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FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE 

An  Interpretation  of  the  Psychology  of 
SPINOZA 


By 

JAMES  H    DUNHAM 


THESIS 

Presented  to  the 

Faculty  of  the  Graduate  School 

OF  the 

University  of  Pennsylvania 

IN 

Partial  Fulfillment  of  the  Requirements 
FOR  the  Degree  of  Ph.D. 


Published  by 
PSYCHOLOGICAL  REVIEW  COMPANY 

As  Philosophical  Monograph,  No.  3 
1916 


n- 


PREFACE 

The  following  essay  is  an  attempt  to  interpret  Spinoza's  ideas 
of  human  consciousness  in  terms  of  modern  psychology.  It  is 
extremely  hazardous  to  project  the  feelings  and  methods  of  one 
age  into  the  mental  habits  of  earlier  thinkers.  The  difficulty  is 
of  a  peculiar  kind  when  we  examine  the  shell  of  scholastic  for- 
mulae from  which  the  author  never  wholly  released  himself. 
Nevertheless,  the  consensus  of  opinion  has  given  him  a  place 
second  to  none  among  the  progenitors  of  the  scientific  study  of 
mind.  Indeed,  he  is  held  by  some,  and  with  good  reason,  to  be 
the  unwitting  founder  of  the  historic  school  known  as  Parallel- 
ism. Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  no  man  before  the  rise 
of  empirical  methods  understood  as  well  as  he  the  meaning  and 
scope  of  psychic  conation.  The  structural  phenomena  of  the 
organism  were  hidden  from  his  view,  but  their  functional  values, 
which  we  now  subsume  under  the  rubric  of  teleology,  were 
grasped  with  an  accuracy  that  astonishes  the  inquirer. 

We  submit  the  results  of  our  study  not  as  a  complete  account 
of  the  Spinozistic  philosophy — for  the  inquiry  is  limited  to  a 
particular  field — ^but  as  a  practical  solution  of  a  problem  which 
has  persistently  vexed  the  reader  of  the  Ethics.  Freedom,  in 
whatsoever  manner  described,  reveals  a  network  of  unexplained 
difficulties.  The  mesh  grows  thicker  and  more  tangled  if  we 
treat  Spinoza's  problem  in  the  cavalier  fashion  usually  accorded 
it.  Either  freedom  vanishes  altogether,  or  its  terms  become 
tantalisingly  vague.  The  form  of  argument  which  we  have 
adopted  allows  room  for  the  scientific  verification  of  material. 
Its  virtue,  if  any,  lies  here. 

We  cannot  undertake  to  list  the  array  of  authorities  con- 
sulted,— on  the  one  side  the  direct  expositors  of  the  text,  on  the 
other  the  standard  works  on  the  meaning  of  consciousness.  It 
is  not  invidious,  however,  to  single  out  two  books,  which  have 
measurably  affected  the  framing  of  our  conclusions,  viz.,  Joa- 

336271 


PREFACE 

chim's  A  Stiidy  of  the  Ethics  of  Spinoza  and  Hobhouse's  De- 
velopment and  Purpose. 

One  word  of  personal  acknowledgment  should  be  added.  For 
the  initial  suggestion  of  subject  and  repeated  counsels  in  its  un- 
folding, the  writer  is  indebted  to  Professor  Edgar  A.  Singer, 
Jr.,  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania. 

The  references  in  the  body  of  the  essay  are  from  the  Ethics, 
except  as  otherwise  noted,  and  are  cited  by  book  and  proposition. 
When  the  page  is  named  the  reference  is  to  the  authoritative 
Latin  text  of  VanVloten  and  Land.  It  will  appear  that  the 
English  translation  by  Elwees  in  the  Bohn  Library  has  been 
freely  used,  as  being  in  most  cases  substantially  correct. 

Philadelphia, 
January  i,  191 6. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Chapter      I.     The  Problem  of  Servitude i 

Chapter    11.     Purpose  the  Mark  of  Freedom 19 

Chapter  III.     The  Quest  of  Character 48 

Chapter  IV.     The  ReaHzation  of  Self. 

(i)  The  Meaning  of  Selfhood 72 

Chapter    V.     The  ReaHzation  of  Self. 

(2)  The  Mode  of  Development 86 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/freedompurposeinOOdunhrich 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  SERVITUDE 

The  philosophy  of  Spinoza  is  first  of  all  a  transcript  of  his 
own  experience.  He  found  himself  confronted  with  a  serious 
problem,  and  he  set  about  solving  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  He 
was  conscious  of  two  facts,  the  jnflexibilrty_ii£j.hejQatu^^^^^^  order, 
together  with  his  awn  jneyitable  place  therein,  and  a  welj_defined 
sense  j)f  Ireedom.  Could  these  two  ^f acts  be  reconciled  ?  The 
method  proposed  has  been  variously  appraised  by  succeeding 
thinkers.  Some  have  scorned  it;  others  have  altered  its  terms, 
so  as  to  bring  it  into  agreement  with  their  own  views;  a  third 
group  have  enthusiastically  accepted  it  as  a  new  Gospel.  But 
whatever  be  the  critical  attitude  of  his  readers,  for  him  it  was 
sufficient,  and  for  him  it  became  a  genuine  confession  of  faith. 
Let  us  understand  at  the  outset  his  idea  of  human  servitude. 


The  world  in  which  we  live,  viewed  as  extended  substance,  can 
only  be  conceived  as  one  and  indivisible.  For  if  it  could  be  di- 
vided as  sense-perception  avers,  then  each  segment  would  or 
would  not  possess  all  the  properties  of  substance.  If  it  did,  in- 
finity, e.g.,  could  be  predicated  of  each,  and  we  should  have  an 
infinite  number  of  infinite  segments ;  if  it  did  not,  then  the  whole 
of  substance  having  been  divided  into  finite  parts  must  surely 
lose  its  original  character.  Both  alternatives,  however,  are 
absurd.^  To  prove  the  same  thing  from  another  angle,  let  us 
suppose  that  a  particular  segment  is  destroyed,  the  other  parts 
remaining  unchanged  in  position.  Immediately  a  vacuum  is 
created;  but  as  this  is  abhorrent  to  nature,  all  its  parts  being 
obliged  to  seek  a  junction,  we  conclude  that  quantitative  divi- 
sions are  inconceivable.  From  this  point  of  view  nature  is  a 
continuum;  and  all  objects,  such  as  water,  which  the  individuat- 

'I,    12. 


2  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

ing  eye  distinguishes  as  separate,  are  only  modal  variations,  un- 
dulations on  the  unbroken  sea,  by  means  of  which  fundamental 
unity  is  expressed.- 

But  it  is  extremely  difficult  for  the  mind  to  grasp  the  idea  of 
unqualified  substance,  inured  as  it  is  to  the  presence  and  activity 
of  individuals.  Let  us  approach  the  case  from  the  opposite  di- 
I  rection.  We  deal  at  once  with  simple  bodies,  exhibiting  the  most 
primary  properties,  viz.,  rest  and  motion.  These  may  be  com- 
pounded with  one  another,  the  aggregate  maintaining  a  du,e  rela- 
tion in  its  parts,  even  though  the  modes  of  motion  be  changed. 
If  now  we  advance  another  step  and  combine  compound  indi- 
viduals, the  product  will  include  a  great  variety  of  possible 
modifications,  let  us  say  organic  reactions,  or  orbital  movements, 
without  working  any  change  in  the  new  nature.  By  continuing 
this  process  to  infinity,  we  at  length  reach  the  conception  of  the 
whole  of  nature,  tot  a  fades  miindi,  an  individual  whose  parts 
undergo  an  infinite  and  infinitely  complex  variety  of  changes, 
without  endangering  the  unity  of  the  whole. ^  Nature  as  thus 
conceived  is  not  a  dreary  waste  of  substance,  with  nothing  upon 
which  the  mind  can  seize;  it  is  stocked  with  bodies  of  different 
degrees  of  "animation",  that  is,  with  different  meanings  as  re- 
lated to  the  whole.^  The  upshot  of  this  view  is  that  the  world 
cannot  be  conceived  without  its  parts,^  the  smallest  organ  and 
the  most  fleeting  idea  having  their  appointed  place  in  the  uni- 
versal system,  because  they  form  the  modes  by  which  the  attri- 
butes of  God  (or  nature)  are  expressed  in  a  fixed  and  definite 
manner.^ 

Given,  then,  a  world  whose  continuity  is  not  interrupted,  but 
defined  by  its  modal  parts,  we  inquire  next  how  the  parts  are 
related  to  one  another.  That  relationship  is  causal.  Everything 
that  exists,  exists  either  through  itself  or  something  else.*^  If 
it  exist  through  something  else,  it  will  be  the  effect  of  a  cause.^ 
Thus,  a  body  at  rest  cannot  supply  its  own  impulse  to  motion ;  it 

«I,  IS,  Scholium   (=Sch.).  'I,  25,  Corollary  (=^C.). 

^*U,  Lem.  7,  Sch.  M,  Ax.  i. 

MI,  13,  Sch.  "I,   Ax.   iii. 
''IV,   2. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  3 

must  be  moved  by  another  body.  Nor  can  a  body  in  motion  come 
to  rest  without  the  interposition  of  a  second  body.^  In  measur- 
ing the  exact  amount  of  work  done  we  must  take  account  of  the 
texture  of  bodies  in  contact,  hard,  soft,  or  fluid.  If  the  im- 
pinging body  fails  to  move  a  body  at  rest,  the  effect  of  the  mo- 
tion is  measured  by  the  recoil  of  the  first  object,  the  path  of  the 
subsequent  motion  being  determined  by  the  angle  of  incidence. ^^ 
Again,  the  constitution  of  compound  bodies  is  a  more  intricate 
application  of  the  same  principle.  For  the  constituent  parts  are 
determined  to  their  relative  positions  by  the  ''compulsion"  of 
other  bodies  and  their  reciprocal  motions  preserve  a  fixed  ratio 
among  themselves.  ^^ 

If  now  we  examine  the  world  as  a  whole,  we  find  the  un- 
deviating  dependence  of  one  individual  upon  another.  Every 
thing  is  determined  to  exist  or  to  act  by  another  thing  determined 
in  the  same  way,  in  a  regress  that  goes  to  infinity. ^^  Take  an 
example.  A  stone  is  dislodged  from  its  place  on  the  roof,  and 
falls  to  the  ground,  killing  a  passing  pedestrian.  The  cause  of 
the  event  was  a  tempestuous  wind  that  came  in  from  the  sea. 
The  wind  was  raised  by  the  agitation  of  the  sea  on  the  preceding 
day.  The  agitation  of  the  waves  was  produced  by  a  definite 
cause,  a  mechanical  series  thus  beginning  which  cannot  be  closed 
until  its  every  member  has  been  ascertained.^  But  inasmuch  as 
the  number  of  links  in  the  chain  is  infinite,  we  can  never  reach 
the  ultimate  cause  of  a  particular  act,  and  must  simply  say  that 
all  things  which  are,  are  in  God  (or  nature)  and  so  depend  on 
Him;  that  without  Him  they  can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived. 
We  do  not  thereby  give  up  the  pursuit  of  a  mechanical  ideal  as  ^ 
an  explanation  of  the  world,  and  take  refuge  in  the  "sanctuary 
of  ignorance",  the  will  or  purpose  of  God.  Final  causes  cannot 
explain  how  a  particular  thing  is  determined  in  space  and  time. 
For  in  the  first  place  the  dogma  reverses  the  actual  order  of 
events,  taking  the  cause  from  its  position  of  priority  and  making 
it  the  effect.  >  It  removes,  also,  the  element  of  perfection  from 
the  world  as  immediately  constituted  and  argues  that  perfection 

"11,  Lem.  iii.  "II,  Lem.  iii.     Definition. 

'Uhid.,  Ax.  i,  ii.  "1,28. 


4  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

can  only  be  attained  when  purpose  is  realized.  *'If  the  immediate 
creations  of  God  were  made  with  a  view  to  His  attaining  a  cer- 
tain end,  then  the  last  things  for  which  the  first  were  made  must 
be  the  most  excellent  of  all".^^ 

Mechanism  on  the  other  hand  insists  that  everything  is  de- 
termined to  existence,  and  to  a  particular  state  of  existence  by 
God,  that  is,  by  the  laws  of  nature.  It  affirms  that  a  definite 
effect  always  follows  a  definite  cause,  the  essence  in  each  being 
the  same,^^  that  the  only  way  to  estimate  the  power  of  a  cause  is 
to  compare  the  essential  natures  of  the  affecting  and  affected 
bodies. ^^  Thus,  if  man  be  the  effect,  we  must  look  for  the  cause 
not  in  the  lifeless  stone,  but  in  the  germinating  seed.  If  the 
nature  of  the  tree  be  the  cause,  we  must  look  for  the  effect  not  in 
articulate  sounds,  such  as  men  utter,  but  in  umbrageous  foliage 
or  luscious  fruit. ^^  Moreover,  the  principle  of  causality  concerns 
not  only  the  nature  of  the  bodies,  but  their  numerical  status^ 
To  account  for  a  group  of  similar  individuals  the  determination 
of  the  essence,  e.g.,  man,  is  not  enough;  we  must  also  determine 
why  there  is  a  prescribed  number  of  them.  Let  us  posit  twenty 
men,  existing  simultaneously  and  without  mutual  relationship. 
They  possess  the  same  properties  and  can  be  understood  by  the 
same  formulas.  But  the  definition  of  finite  things  does  not  in- 
volve existence  i^"^  the  nature  of  man  does  not  require  that  there 
should  be  twenty  units  of  the  class  at  the  same  time.  Hence,  we 
are  forced  to  seek  a  causal  nexus  for  each  one  in  turn,  in  order 
to  understand  why  he  exists.^^.  In  other  words,  mechanism  lays' 
its  grip  upon  every  element  in  nature,  forces  it  into  an  infinite 
regress  of  causes,  and  sets  upon  it  the  inerasable  mark  of  neces- 
sity.^^ There  is  nothing  contingent  in  the  wide  spaces  of  the 
universe ;  nothing,  that  is  to  say,  which  is  dependent  on  the  oper- 
ation of  causes  whose  entrance  into  the  sphere  of  influence  we 
cannot  positively  determine.-^ 

Still  another  fact  confronts  us;  the  rule  of  causality  can  not 
be  broken.     When  a  body  has  been  endowed  with  certain  prop- 


"I,  App. 

^•I,  8,   Sch.  ii. 

"1,29. 

"  I,  Def.  4- 

"  I,  24. 

""I,   33,   Sch.  i, 

»V,  Ax.  ii. 

"I,  8,  Sch. 

FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  5 

erties,  and  conditioned  to  act  in  a  certain  way,  it  can  never  dis- 
avow its  condition;  it  can  never  act  in  a  different  fashion.^^  The 
most  conspicuous  interruption  to  the  natural  order  is  alleged  to 
have  occurred  in  the  miracles  of  religion.  They  have  woven 
themselves  so  intimately  into  the  faith  of  the  masses  and  are  so 
manifestly  the  instruments  of  priestcraft  for  cementing  its 
authority,  that  any  one  who  attempts  to  examine  them  as  natural 
phenomena,  links  in  the  causal  chain,  is  branded  as  an  impious 
heretic.  Nevertheless  we  are  warranted  in  inquiring  into  their 
character,  proceeding  on  the  assumption  that  the  order  of  nature 
is  immutable,  as  the  being  of  God.^^  It  will  then  appear  that  a 
miracle  has  no  meaning,  except  in  relation  to  the  opinion  of  men. 
For  it  reflects  not  an  activity  in  the  mechanical  world,  but  the 
limits  of  human  knowledge.  It  is  an  event  whose  cause  cannot 
be  explained  by  those  principles  which  natural  reason  has  de- 
duced from  observed  phenomena.  In  many  of  the  recorded  mir- 
acles an  uncritical  age  declined  to  institute  a  search  into  causes, 
a  search  which  would  doubtless  have  removed  once  and  for  all 
the  unusual  character  of  the  event.  The  necessity  of  mechanism 
remains  unimpaired.^^ 

From  a  different  point  of  view  the  application  of  this  rule  is 
denied.  Men  allege  there  is  a  break  in  the  observed  order.  Sen- 
sations pressing  thick  and  fast  upon  consciousness  give  us  the 
impression  of  a  confused,  unarticulated  mass.  They  do  not 
conform  to  the  sequence  and  order  with  which  we  have  hedged 
natural  phenomena.  Disharmonies  in  sights  and  sounds,  fetid, 
decomposing  matter,  bitterness  or  insipidity  in  taste,  disease,  in- 
equalities in  social  condition, — these  are  to  us  evidences  of  an 
unbalanced  scheme  of  nature;  we  are  wont  to  charge  it  up  against 
the  inadequacy  of  the  governing  rule,  forgetting  that  our  "order" 
is  simply  a  synthesis  of  the  sensuous  manifold,  a  concept  of  the 
understanding.  In  nature  there  is  no  "order",  there  is  nothing 
but  irresistible  law.^^.  Everything  is  determined  to  act  in  a  par- 
ticular way,  and  in  that  way  it  must  act.  More  than  that,  it  is 
the  only  way  in  which  it  could  act;  that  is  to  say,  the  world  in 

^I,  27.  ^Trac.  Theol.  Pol.  I,  446. 

^I,  App.  =^1,  App. 


t^ 


6  ■  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

which  we  Hve,  and  all  its  constituent  parts,  could  have  assumed 
no  other  form,  developed  no  other  causal  series,  than  that  which 
science  reveals.  The  argument  adduced  by  Spinoza  to  prove 
this  point  is  strictly  scholastic ;  you  could  not  make  a  new  nature 
without  making  a  new  substance,  which  would  mean  the  con- 
structing of  two  infinities,  an  absurd  proposition.  But  there  is 
an  empirical  basis  for  his  contention ;  for,  granting  the  physicist's 
principle,  the  conservation  of  energy,  we  are  assured  that  how- 
ever much  you  may  alter  the  relations  of  individuals  you  cannot 
reduce  the  actual  amount  of  force  at  work  within  the  world. 
Hence,  all  speculation  as  to  what  might  have  happened  is  on  the 
face  of  it  inept.  The  fact  remains  inevitable  and  emphatic, — 
the  rule  of  causality  is  universal. 

II 

To  the  rule  as  thus  formulated  the  body  of  man  does  not  pre- 
sent an  exception.  It  follows  in  every  detail  the  laws  of  physics 
and  chemistry.  Man  comes  into  existence  through  the  medium 
of  a  necessary  cause,  that  is,  by  the  action  of  another  body,  and 
is  determined  to  his  particular  form  and  function  by  forces  over 
which  he  has  no  control.^^  His  corporeal  constituents  are  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  those  which  enter  into  the  making  of  a  purely 
mechanical  body,  e.g.,  a  planet.  Like  it  his  organization  is  not 
simple,  but  a  congeries  of  minute  and  infinitely  diversified  bodies. 
Like  it,  too,  his  component  parts  reveal  the  usual  variety  of 
texture,  hard,  soft,  fluid.  He  is  affected  by  the  same  impact  of 
foreign  bodies,  while  all  the  organs  and  functions  within  the 
compound  sustain  an  undeviating  relation  to  one  another. ^^  The 
vegetative  system  requires  the  introduction  of  bodies  from  with- 
out for  its  constant  "regeneration" — a  fact  which  apparently 
unique  to  organic  structure  may  yet  be  paralleled  by  magnetic  in- 
fluences in  unorganized  bodies.  Again,  the  human  body  receives 
impressions  through  the  sense-organs,  in  such  a  way  that  the 
impressions  endure  after  the  stimulus  is  removed,  by  virtue  of 
the  fact  that  the  fluid  parts  of  our  body  impinge  on  the  softer 

"I,  17,  Sch.  ""Cf.  II,  Lem.  vi. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  7 

parts  of  the  same  and  register  there  an  effect,  undisturbed  until 
a  new  reaction  is  set  up.  This  transaction  is  subject  to  the  com- 
mon calculus  of  chemistry. 

Man  has  also  a  reciprocating  power;  he  can  "do  work"  on  his 
neighbor;  he  can  ''arrange"  external  bodies  in  various  ways, 
especially  by  bodily  motion,  or  change  of  place.^^  It  is  there- 
fore true  to  say  that  man  is  conformed  to  nature  in  an  almost 
infinite  number  of  ways,^^  that  he  is  inexorably  a  part  of  nature, 
and  cannot  undergo  any  changes  save  such  as  are  determined  by 
the  laws  of  physical  activity,  his  own  body  as  well  as  outride 
forces  being  examined  f^  and  that  his  every  act  mirrors  the  gen- 
eral, constitution  of  the  world  and  not  exclusively  the  properties 
which  make  him  a  man.^^  In  this  way  he  fulfills  the  universal 
axiom  that  there  is  in  nature  no  individual  thing  which  is  not 
surpassed  in  intrinsic  strength  by  another  individual,  and  which 
consequently  is  liable  to  destruction  by  it.^^  The  axiom  is  em- 
pirically verifiable,  and  in  no  case  more  clearly  than  in  the  life 
of  man.  Man  thus  becomes  a  member  of  the  causal  series,  which 
grows  ever  more  powerful  in  its  regress.  The  slightest  ex- 
perience proves  to  him  that  his  own  power  is  infinitely  exceeded 
by  the  power  of  external  causes. 

But  the  account  of  man  which  we  have  so  far  given  has  made 
no  reference  to  intellect  as  the  special  endowment  of  our  subject. 
This  is  the  element  which  is  thought  to  distinguish  him  from 
other  objects  in  nature,  even  conscious  animals.  It  must  be  his 
certificate  of  freedom,  if  he  have  any.  We  therefore  ask,  how 
mental  processes  arise  and  what  relation  they  bear  to  body.  The 
primary  fact  is,  that  the  order  and  nexus  of  ideas  is  the  same  as 
the  order  and  nexus  of  things.^^  For  every  individual  in  the 
world  there  is  an  idea  in  the  mind  of  God,  since  he  is  both 
thought  and  extension ;  that  is,  everything  has  a  "mind".^^  But 
man  alone  of  all  modes  is  able  to  express  fiis~i3eas"in  language; 
hence  his  experience  must  be  studied  in  order  to  ascertain  the 
relation  between  mind  and  body.     Now  the  first  element  in  con- 

"II,  Posts,  i-vi.  "IV,  37,  Sch.  ''U,   7. 

"IV,  App.  vi.  "IV,  Ax.  ^ill,  13,  Sch. 

-IV,  4. 


8  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

sciotisness,  the  fact  which  first  makes  us  aware  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  mind,  is  the  idea  of  an  existing  object,  viz.,  the 
body.^*  The  relation  between  them  is  indestructible.  The 
moment  a  reaction,  even  of  the  most  rudimentary  kind,  takes 
place  in  body,  the  mind  registers  its  image  as  an  idea.  Mental 
action  corresponds  point  by  point  with  physical  changes;  the 
concomitance  is  exact.^^  Hence,  the  finer  the  articulation  of  the 
organs  of  body,  and  the  acuter  the  senses  to  receive  and  co- 
ordinate their  perceptions,  that  is  to  say,  the  greater  the  reactive 
power  of  body,  the  more  fitted  will  mind  be  to  work  the  sensuous 
manifold  into  a  conceptual  system.  In  other  words,  percept  and 
concept  are  inevitably  joined;  there  is  no  distinction  between 
V^^  them.^^  The  mind  is  not  a  plastic  surface,  a  tabula  rasa,  on 
which  images  are  successively  engraved.  It  is  another  aspect  of 
body,  just  as  body  is  another  aspect  of  mind.  What  happens  to 
one  happens  simultaneously  to  the  other,  whether  the  "happen- 
ing" be  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  ideas  or  their  objective 
equivalents^ 

Now  we  know  what  happens  to  body,  and  from  these  data  we 
can  judge  what  happens  to  mind.  When  the  body  is  affected  by 
external  forces,  the  impact  of  the  affection  is  registered  in  con- 
sciousness. The  mind,  however,  does  not  perceive  the  nature 
of  the  impinging  body,  except  as  it  is  mediated  through  the  con- 
stitution of  its  own  body.s^  Thus,  Peter's  idea  of  Paul  will  be 
different  from  Paul's  idea  of  himself,  inasmuch  as  the  one  passes 
through  the  sense-organs  of  the  observer,  while  the  other  is  the 
product  of  a  man's  experience  with  his  own  organic  system. 
The  modification  of  body  determines  the  image  in  the  mind.^^ 
When,  then,  two  or  more  sensations  occur  simultaneously  in  the 
mind,  the  return  of  one  of  them  will  induce  a  modification, 
kindred  to  that  sustained  when  both  were  present.  This  is  pos- 
sible because  the  body  retains  the  impression  of  an  external  agent 
even  after  its  withdrawal,  and  until  such  impression  has  been 
effaced  by  a  new  sensation.  On  this  basis  memory  cannot  be  an 
originative  act  of  the  mind ;  it  is  the  sequence  of  images,  caused 


^11,  II. 

''•I,  14. 

=«  II,  i6,  Cor. 

^'II.    12. 

"V,  I. 

'•II,    17,    Sch, 

FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  9 

by  corresponding  reactions  in  the  body.  For  example,  the  soldier 
sees  the  prints  of  the  horses'  hoofs  in  the  sand  and  at  once  con- 
jures up  the  image  of  a  horse,  a  horseman,  and  the  tumult  of 
battle;  while  a  farmer  observing  the  same  tracks  would  think  of 
the  plow,  the  furrow,  and  the  hard-working  animal.  In  this  way, 
too,  objects  which  have  no  natural  affinities  are  joined  together; 
as  when  a  Roman  hearing  the  word  pomum,  would  at  once  think 
of  the  fruit  bearing  that  name,  the  two  images  having  nothing" 
in  common  except  the  fact  that  both  had  at  the  sarrie'moment 
produced  modifications  in  the  percipient's  senses. ^^  One  con- 
clusion alone  can  be  deduced  from  these  considerations,  viz.,  that 
the  mind  is  framed  to  think  in  a  particular  way,  by  a  definite 
cause,  which  in  turn  is  subject  to  a  like  determination,  until  a 
causal  series  develops  in  the  operation  of  mind,  parallel  to,  and 
as  rigorous  as,  that  which  governs  the  affections  of  body.^^ 

But  to  many  students  of  human  nature  such  a  conclusion  is 
obnoxious.  They  cannot  understand  how  the  laws  of  physics  or 
chemistry  can  be  the  sole  and  originating  "causes  of  pictures, 
buildings,  and  all  things  of  that  kind,  which  are  produced  only 
by  human  act."  They  affirm  that  the  body  of  man,  unguided  by 
the  mind,  is  incapable  of  unfolding  the  genius,  enshrined  in  a 
classic  temple.  We  answer  that  no  one  has  as  yet  explored  the 
resources  stored  within  the  body's  confines.  The  fineness  of 
texture,  the  complexity  of  organization,  far  transcending  the 
products  of  art,  are  such  that  t^ey  may  of  themselves  account 
for  many  esthetic  achievements,  which  we  have  hitherto  ascribed 
to  deliberate  intent.  Nor  has  anyone  gained  so  complete  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  structure  of  organs,  or  of  the  bundle  of  nerves  which 
now  we  call  the  motor-sensory  system,  as  to  explain  adequately 
their  functional  offices.  There  are  many  performances  in  sub- 
conscious life,  e.g.,  somnambulism,  which  throw  us  into  surprise 
when  wx  waken,  and  which  when  we  are  awake  we  should  not 
venture  to  repeat.  Animal  psychology  discloses  certain  instincts, 
leading  to  action,  which  in  sagacity  quite  excel  the  voluntary 
efforts  of  man.  Again,  it  is  averred  that  the  body  remains  inert 
and  passive,  so  long  as  the  mind  is  in  no  condition  to  think. 

*"  II,  18,  Sch.  *'  Cf.  II,  48. 


lo  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

But  we  answer,  the  state  of  body  has  much  to  do  with  the  capacity 
for  mental  exertion.  If  the  body  be  sunken  in  sleep,  the  mind 
is  torpid;  if  the  body  suffer  from  fatigue  or  disease,  or  if  the 
nerve-centres  be  subject  to  some  particular  stimulation,  the  mind 
cannot  adjust  itself  to  think  on  a  given  theme.^^  These  illus- 
trations are  adduced  to  prove,  not  that  body  is  superior  to  mind, 
but  that  mind  and  body  are  one  and  the  same  individual,  con- 
ceived now  under  the  aspect  of  thought,  again  under  the  aspect 
of  extension.^^  There  is  no  interaction;  the  mind  cannot  change 
the  functioning  of  bodily  organs,  nor  can  the  body  give  to^  mind 
the  power  of  thinking;  they  act  with  a  united  impulse.^* 

The  relation  of  mind  and  body  as  thus  sketched  is  diametrically 
opposed  to  that  adopted  by  Descartes.  He  held  the  rules  of 
physics  to  be  inviolable  until  man  is  reached.  The  instincts  of 
sentient  creatures  are  mere  automatisms,  combinations  of  phys- 
ical and  chemical  elements.  Man  however  is  of  a  different  fibre. 
He  possesses  thought  and  extension,  soul  and  body.  Descartes 
agreed  with  many  less  critical  thinkers  in  "conceiving  man  to  be 
situated  in  nature  as  a  kingdom  within  a  kingdom."  The  bearer 
of  intelligence  does  not  passively  follow  the  natural  order;  he 
interrupts  and  often  shatters  it.  To  trace  the  emotions  of  body 
to  their  primary  causes  was  one  of  the  secure  triumphs  of  this 
philosopher.  But  he  did  it  only  to  assure  to  man  an  absolute 
dominion  over  them.  Hence  his  question  was,  how  the  transit 
from  soul  to  body,  from  thought  to  motion  could  be  effected. 
Pree^tablished  harmony,  as  afterwards  worked  out  by  Leibnitz, 
would  be  a  poet's  dream,  not  a  scientific  hypothesis.  The  single 
substance  of  Spinoza  obliterated  the  agelong  division,  accepted 
b}|  religion  and  philosophy  as  final.  A  solitary  alternative  re- 
mained to  the  exponent  of  Rationalism:  man  must  break  into 
the  mechanism  of  nature,  he  must  master  his  physical  environ- 
ment. How  shall  he  do  it  ?  By  translating  volition  into  mechan- 
ical action.  The  pineal  gland  in  the  "midst  of  the  brain"  fur- 
nished the  point  of  contact.  All  the  diverse  agitations  of  animal 
spirits  impinge  upon  it,  and  from  it  receive  in  turn  the  impulses 
which  drive  them  back  to  the  state  of  equilibrium.     Probably  in 

*»III,  2,   Sch.  "^11,  21,   Sch.  "Ill,     2. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  ii 

infancy  this  connecting  gland  dealt  with  a  single  thought,  let  us 
say  the  most  rudimentary  reaction;  but  in  time  it  became  as- 
sociated with  the  great  complex  of  thought  and  motion,  and  at 
length  stood  out  as  the  fulcrum  by  which  a  man  could  lift  him- 
self above  the  murk  and  bondage  of  circumstance  on  to  the  level 
of  independence.^^ 

To  Spinoza  such  a  transgression  of  mechanical  law  was  un- 
thinkable. Man  is  not  a  privileged  being  in  a  world  of  de- 
termined bodies.  He  may  acquire  a  lordship  over  nature,  if  he 
will;  but  he  can  win  it  not  by  overriding  her  precepts,  but  by 
obeying  everyone  to  the  uttermost.  The  device  proposed  by 
Descartes  was  a  childish  invention,  unworthy  of  a  mind  which 
had  deliberately  shivered  the  idols  of  Scholastic  occultism.  For 
if  the  uniting  gland  be  equally  agitated  by  impinging  passion  and 
vohtional  decision,  the  one  neutralizing  the  other,  it  can  yield  no 
assurance  that  decision  will  not  be  checked  and  perhaps  de- 
stroyed through  the  excess  of  passion.  Nor  does  this  theory 
answer  the  objection  that  there  is  no  common  denominator  be- 
tween idea  and  motion,  and  hence  no  basis  for  comparing  their 
relative  powers.  For  how  shall  I  find  out  the  strength  of  the 
mental  assertion  required  to  lift  the  arm  in  the  act  of  felling 
an  opponent,  when  my  instrument  of  measure  is  practically  un- 
known to  me  ?  When  however  we  understand  that  the  emotions 
of  body  follow  from  the  necessary  order  of  nature,  that  they 
can  be  traced  back  to  determinate  causes,  that  they  involve  no 
defect  in  nature,  such  as  is  described  by  the  terms  pain  and  vice, 
but  rather  register  a  little  known  aspect  of  her  perfection,  then 
we  shall  not  decline  to  exhibit  them  in  geometrical  fashion,  as 
we  do  lines,  planes  and  solids,  believing  that  by  such  a  survey 
we  shall  be  driven  to  oppose  and  conquer  the  restraints  which 
have  been  forced  upon  us.^^ 

Ill 

Having  accepted  the  thesis  that  man  shares  the  causal  rela- 
tions of  mechanism,  we  proceed  to  inquire  how  they  find  ex- 
pression in  his  emotional  life.    His  body,  as  we  saw,  comes  into 

*V,  Pref.  "•Ill,  Pref. 


12  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

being  wholly  without  his  connivance.  Inasmuch  as  mutually 
destructive  elements  cannot  operate  within  the  same  body,  we 
must  attribute  to  man  as  to  other  individuals  the  endeavor  to 
preserve  his  own  existence.  This  endeavor  can  be  nothing  else 
than  the  essence  or  constitutive  nature  with  which  he  makes  his 
entrance  into  the  world.*^  Hence  the  Conatus  is  a  determined 
quantum,  an  appetite  governed  solely  by  the  laws  of  chemical 
reaction.  It  is  a  something  which  we  cannot  change.  We  can- 
not, for  example,  do  injury  to  ourselves  with  a  view  to  ultimate 
benefit.  To  hate  an  object,  and  sustain  thereby  a  distinct  loss 
of  emotional  vigor,  expecting  to  attain  later  a  degree  of  mental 
''perfection"  hitherto  unknown,  is  a  type  of  sacrifice  utterly 
repugnant  to  natural  law.*^  Moreover,  the  same  impulse,  even 
when  associated  with  consciousness  and  called  desire,  receives 
not  a  shred  more  of  self-initiating  power  than  it  formerly  had. 
Desire  is  not  an  outreaching  for  a  benison  which  we  would  make 
our  own.  We  do  not  desire  a  thing  because  it  is  good ;  a  thing 
is  good  because  we  desire  it ;  that  is,  because  the  organic  function 
responds  most  readily  to  the  stimulus.  Now  the  realisation  of 
a  good,  or  more  strictly,  the  functioning  of  desire,  brings  with  it 
an  increase  of  the  body's  powers  and  a  corresponding  increase 
of  the  mind's  capacity.  The  movement  is  purely  reflexive;  it 
springs  from  the  properties  of  our  nature.  We  could  not  be 
men  if  we  did  not  pursue  a  conduct  like  this.  Thus,  the  emotions 
of  love  and  hate  are  not  careful  discriminations  on  the  part  of 
an  agent,  as  many  moralists  contend.  They  are  mental  registra- 
tions of  physical  facts.  The  forces  of  body  are  enlarged  or 
diminished,  and  the  mind  cultivates  or  shrinks  from  a  conception 
of  the  same.^^  Hatred  and  envy  do  not  in  the  first  instance  imply 
deliberate  intent.  They  are  impulses  which  record  an  automatic 
revolt  against  any  interference  with  a  man's  comfort,  or  his 
right  to  live.  Parents  have  often  fed  the  fires  of  such  emotion 
by  inciting  their  children  to  virtue,  precisely  for  the  sake  of 
eclipsing  the  prestige  of  a  neighbor's  family  or  neutralizing  their 
efforts.  But  all  the  training  born  of  ambition  would  have  been 
fruitless  and  dead  except  for  the  tendency  already  implanted  in 

"111,7.  "Ill,  44,  Sell.  "Ill,  13,  C 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  13 

the  youthful  nature.^^  Whatever  be  the  emotion  that  struggles 
for  utterance,  we  may  be  sure  that  it  forges  one  new  fetter  upon 
hands  already  heavily  loaded  with  the  tokens  of  human  en- 
slavement. 

We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  rise  of  emotion;  we  have  as 
little  to  do  with  its  development.  This  consideration  accounts 
for  the  wide  variation  of  types  in  a  given  society,  a  measurable 
difference  here,  an  extraordinary  contrast  there.  Whence  comes 
such  diversity?  The  answer  is:  Elemental  passions  depend 
altogether  on  the  way  a  body  receives  its  modifications  through 
the  medium  of  external  forces.^  ^  That  our  emotional  nature  is 
stirred  to  activity  in  this  way  only,  is  the  common  testimony  of 
observers.^-  Thus,  the  child  is  constrained  to  laugh  or  cry  when 
similar  phenomena  are  found  in  the  behavior  of  its  attendants,^^ 
an  imitative  reaction  which  in  later  life  develops  into  a  determi- 
nate attempt  to  emulate  the  word,  look  or  dress  of  one  whom 
we  love.^*  Again,  the  tremor  of  lip  and  the  pallor  of  brow  are 
traceable  directly  to  a  nervous  shock  administered  by  some 
foreign  body  of  higher  potency  than  ours.  These  are  emotional 
experiences  which  every  man  involuntarily  repeats;  pieces  of 
^'fossilized  intelfigence"  (Lamarck),  not  drafts  on  the  mind,  as 
the  reservoir  of  thought.^^  Another  group  of  emotions  distin- 
guish one  agent  from  another.  These  admit  of  a^  diversity  of 
intellectual  judgments;  and  yet  these,  too,  are  based  upon  the 
empirical  fact  that  every  man  tends  to  react  to  given  conditions 
in  certain  well  defined  ways.  Thus,  courage  and  fear  are  first 
of  all  physical  phenomena;  a  man  does  not  make  himself  brave 
or  timid;  he  is  that,  by  the  tendency  of  his  nature.  More  than 
that;  no  man  can  form  an  opinion  on  a  particular  act  involving 
hardihood,  without  revealing  at  the  same  time  his  own  emotional 
synthesis.  "I  shall  call  a  man  intrepid  when  he  makes  light  of 
an  evil  which  I  am  disposed  to  fear;  and  if  in  addition  I  con- 
sider the  fact  that  his  desire  of  injuring  his  enemy  and  benefit- 
ing his  friend  is  not  restrained  through  fear  of  danger,  I  shall 
call  him  audacious."     The  'value  of  my  judgment  depends  on 

"•HI,  55,  Sch.  '=111,  13,  Sch.  •*III,  27. 

"  III,  56.  ""  III,  32,  Sch,  .  "  III,  59,  Sch. 


14  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

my  personal  idea  of  courage,  and  that  can  be  appraised  only  in 
terms  of  the  physical  power  which  I  myself  feel  in  face  of 
evils.^6 

Individual  peculiarities,  then,  instead  of  guaranteeing  inde- 
pendence, serve  only  to  prove  how  deeply  intrenched  in  private 
experience  are  the  rigorous  laws  of  organic  life.  We  are  subject 
to  an  external  constraint  which  we  can  neither  throw  off  nor 
reduce.  We  are  forced  to  be  whatever  our  sensory  reactions 
make  us;  and  they  in  turn  are  shaped  by  the  stimulating  bodies 
about  them.  We  are  a  prey  to  passion.  For,  in  last  analysis, 
drunkenness  and  avarice  are  not  merely  changes  in  a  particular 
body.  The  words  imply  correlatives.  If  a  man  be  drunken,  it  is 
because  he  has  been  lured  by  the  cup  and  has  imbibed  its  con- 
tents. If  a  man  is  avaricious,  it  is  because  he  has  conceived  the 
possibilities  wrapped  up  in  the  possession  of  gold.  'They  pro- 
claim," says  Spinoza,  ''the  nature  of  each  affection  through  the 
objects  to  which  they  sustain  the  most  intimate  (i.e!  causal) 
relation.  "^^  In  general,  sympathy  and  antipathy,  words  intro- 
duced by  certain  authors  to  indicate  an  occult  property  in  things, 
really  describe  our  emotional  life;  we  are  victims  of  passivity, 
whether  for  good  or  for  ill.  Nature  has  driven  her  thongs  into 
man's  flesh  and  heart.^^ 

The  servitude  of  man  is  further  strengthened  by  his  vacillation 
in  face  of  conflicting  emotions.^ ^  The  sensory  nerves  cannot 
always  communicate  the  same  steady  vitalizing  power;  there 
must  be  alternations  of  uplift  and  depression.  This  situation, 
so  familiar  in  purely  organic  experience,  stands  typical  of  the 
entire  emotional  career  of  man.  Consider  for  example  the  per- 
son whose  temperament  is  antithetical  to  our  own,  who  yet 
strongly  resembles  in  face  and  behavior  a  third  person,  counted 
among  our  dearest  friends.  In  our  mind  two  distinct  and  con- 
tradictory emotions  are  aroused,  attraction  and  repulsion,  love 
and  hate.  Two  attitudes  strive  for  ascendency,  and  we  are  un- 
able by  untrammeled  choice  to  adopt  either. ^^     The  situation 

"III,  51,  Sch.  -111,41,  C. 

"Ill,  56,  Sch.  -111,17. 

"Ill,  IS,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  15 

finds  a  parallel  in  the  sphere  of  imagination.  The  mind  is  simul- 
taneously affected  by  two  images,  because  two  several  impressions 
concur  in  the  sensory  system.  When  one  image  returns  the 
other  is  automatically  called  up.  If  now  the  first  image  be  as- 
sociated on  another  occasion  with  a  third  object,  its  fresh  ap- 
pearance will  superinduce  a  conflict  of  expectations :  will  Y  or  Z 
follow  X?  The  percipient  is  incapable  of  rendering  a  decision.^^ 
In  the  sphere  of  emotion  the  fluctuation  arises  not  from  the  mere 
concurrence  of  sensations,  but  because  the  causes  operate  dif- 
ferently in  producing  the  effects.  In  the  case  just  cited,  hatred 
is  the  result  of  a  direct  clash  of  antagonistic  natures,  while  the 
feeling  of  love  is  engendered  by  the  presence  of  another  cause. 
Generally,  however,  both  emotions  may  be  incited  by  the  same 
cause,  by  virtue  of  the  extraordinary  diversity  of  our  sensory 
reactions.  Furthermore,  in  the  last  analysis,  contradictory  de- 
sires will  be  found  to  be  variations  of  the  same  emotion,  as  e.g., 
avarice  and  luxury  of  self-love;  the  one  expressing  greediness 

for  personal  gain,  the  other  lavish  expenditure  for  personal 
gratification.  ®2 

IV 

Such  is  the  situation  which  meets  every  man,  even  the  most 
advanced  and  experienced.  What  will  be  the  outcome?  What 
shall  determine  the  issue?  The  man  himself  by  "decree  of  mind" 
cannot  settle  the  case  once  for  all.  That  is  out  of  the  question. 
The  settlement  takes  place  by  a  change  in  tone  of  one  or  both  of 
the  contrary  passions.^^  A  new  "state  of  mind"  then  exists. 
Thus,  when  hunger  has  been  appeased  by  food,  the  digestive 
organs  are  no  longer  in  the  same  condition  of  susceptibility. 
What  appealed  strongly  before,  now  palls  on  the  taste.  We  could 
not  if  we  tried  excite  the  sharp  appetite  which  a  moment  ago 
craved  for  satisfaction.^*  But  such  a  quick  adjustment  is  not 
always  to  be  expected.  There  are  certain  conditions  which  na- 
ture imposes,  and  which  she  insists  should  be  met.  The  whim 
or  alleged  volition  of  the  agent  has  no  part  in  effecting  the 

*II,  44,  Sch.  «V,  I. 

•»  IV,  Def .  V.  "  III.  59,  Sch. 


i6  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

change.  Emotions  with  the  stimulating  cause  present  exceed  in 
strength  emotions  whose  cause  has  disappeared.  Emotions  re- 
specting future  objects  are  fainter  in  proportion  to  the  remote- 
ness of  attainment.  Emotions  conceived  to  be  necessary  make 
a  far  deeper  impression  on  the  mind  than  those  which  are  con- 
tingent on  unknown  circumstances.^^  An  intelligent  grasp  of 
the  principles  of  good  and  evil  cannot  of  itself  overcome  the 
effect  of  impulsive  desire.  We  may  be  thoroughly  convinced  of 
the  advisability  of  a  certain  course,  we  may  have  carefully  esti- 
mated its  ethical  advantages,  we  may  have  worked  up  a  genuine 
enthusiasm  for  its  virtuous  possibiHties ;  but  when  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, yielding  immediate  results,  fastens  upon  us,  all  the  fervor 
of  intention  expires  like  a  dying  flame,  and  we  are  left  with  the 
dead  ashes  of  a  natural  passion.^^  Indeed,  it  is  true  to  say  that 
the  violence  of  the  conflict  exhausts  a  man's  power  of  activity, 
and  confirms  the  word  of  Sacred  Writ:  ''He  that  increaseth 
knowledge,  increaseth  sorrow."  Thus  our  boasted  freedom  turns 
out  to  be  a  hidden  chain,  binding  us  with  links  of  steel  back  to 
the  tyranny  of  unrationalized  appetite.^^  Appetite,  sensation, 
stimulus,  fetters  of  sense,  signs  of  bondage,  from  these  we  shall 
struggle  in  vain  to  win  release. 

Having  this  convincing  array  of  facts  before  us,  we  wonder 
how  men  will  venture  to  aflirm  their  independence.  The  paradox 
arrests  attention.  It  is  not  a  sporadic  challenge,  here  and  there. 
It  is  the  judgment  of  many  dispassionate  observers.  How  can 
we  dispel  the  illusion  ?  We  might  compare  man  to  a  flying  stone, 
which  has  been  set  in  motion  by  an  external  force.  If  it  be- 
comes conscious  during  transit,  it  would  regard  itself  as  free  in 
determining  its  direction  and  would  think  of  the  impulse  which 
carries  it  along  as  the  product  of  its  own  action. ^^  This  parable 
suggests  two  things;  first,  a  definition  of  the  will,  and  next  a 
discovery  of  the  actual  cause  of  mental  exertion.  The  will  is 
not,  as  Cartesians  hold,  a  separate  faculty,  by  which  a  man  exe- 
cutes his  ideas.  It  is  the  same  as  intellect,  composed  of  conscious 
units,  each  one  of  which  answers  to  a  particular  change  in  the 

*IV,  9,  lo,  II.  "IV,  17,  Sch. 

•IV,  i6.  "Epis.  62. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  17 

organic  structure.  If  a  mind  cannot  perceive  a  thing,  it  cannot 
will  it.  That  which  we  call  will  is  the  sum  of  volitions,  nothing 
more.^^  Yet  it  is  a  convenient  term  under  which  to  group  de- 
terminate acts,  in  the  same  way  that  we  classify  certain  indi- 
viduals under  the  term  man,  or  abstract  a  common  quality, 
lapidity,  from  several  particular  stones.  Now  the  common  prop- 
erty in  volitions,  the  residual  fact  in  all  exertions  of  mind,  is 
consciousness;  it  is  this  fact  which  awards  to  us  a  constructive 
part  in  the  making  of  conduct.  For  instance,  the  impulses  of 
childhood,  desire  for  food,  flashes  of  temper,  instinct  to  run  from 
danger,  the  maudlin  behavior  of  an  intoxicated  man,  the  delirium 
of  the  fevered  patient,  the  inconsequential  loquacity  of  gossiping 
women,  are  thought  by  their  subjects  to  be  free  decisions  of  will, 
just  because  they  are  conscious  of  a  change  in  sensation.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  such  activities  express  no  freedom  whatsoever; 
^they  register  only  the  functioning  of  physical  appetites.  Trace 
the  volition  to  its  source  and  we  see  how  helpless  the  agent  is  to 
hew  his  own  way.  The  man  who  is  caught  in  the  cross-currents 
of  incompatible  impulses  yields  to  uncertainty  and  doubt  and 
cannot  conceive  a  moral  policy  steady  enough  to  steer  him  to 
safety.  The  man  with  no  commanding  emotion,  no  love,  no 
hatt,  no  ambition,  no  honor, — an  anemic  and  undefined  complex 
of  sensations, — will  be  the  buffet  of  circumstances,  a  prey  to 
every  inconsiderable  fancy  that  meets  his  eye.  Each  man  is 
conscious  of  his  subjective  states;  he  cannot  make  a  single  one 
of  them  permanent  by  a  free  decision  of  mind.*^^ 
V  Hence,  volition  as  an  originative  power  is  a  delusion.  As  well 
hold  that  we  can  by  act  of  will  recover  to  conscious  thought  the 
name  or  fact  which  has  dropped  into  the  abysm  of  forgetfulness 
— as  well  maintain  that  the  thrilling  events  of  the  dreamworld 
are  acts  of  deliberate  intent,  as  suppose  that  the  most  refined 
hypothesis  of  the  philosopher  is  palpitant  with  any  other  energy 
than  that  which  courses  through  the  arteries  of  nature.  The 
laws  of  thought  are  the  same  as  the  laws  of  matter;  they  belong 
to  the  same  substance. "^^  To  suspend  judgment  is  to  disrupt  the 
order  of  ideas,  an  impossible  procedure.  Judgment  cannot  be 
•II,  49,  C  ^'III,  2,  Sch.  "11,36. 


i8  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

suspended,  for  the  attempt  to  do  so  is  itself  a  judgment,  and  the 
sequence  of  thought  is  inviolably  preserved.  Nor  can  a  man 
exercise  the  power  of  contrary  choice,  that  is,  decide  upon  a 
thing  in  contravention  of  all  prior  motives;  for  such  an  act 
v^ould  have  no  constitutive  cause,  v^ould  be  a  spar  cast  upon  an 
uncharted  sea,  with  its  origin  a  mysterious  blank.''^  ''Where- 
fore," says  the  author,  ''these  decisions  of  mind  arise  in  con- 
sciousness by  the  same  necessity  as  the  images  of  things  which 
exist  in  the  phenomenal  world.  Hence,  those  who  believe  that 
they  speak,  or  keep  silent,  or  perform  any  action  by  the  free 
election  of  mind,  do  but  dream  with  their  eyes  open.""^^ 

By  this  definition  of  will,  too,  we  understand  how  error  takes 
hold  upon  the  mind  of  man.  For  error  is  not  a  real  fact,  but 
a  privation  of  knowledge.  Thus,  we  conceive  the  sun  to  be 
about  two  hundred  feet  from  the  surface  of  the  earth.  If  we 
decline  to  test  our  sensuous  experience  by  the  principles  of 
scientific  inquiry,  then,  it  may  be  said,  we  acquiesce  in  what  is 
false.  For  knowledge  unverified  by  true  standards  cannot  be 
certain ;  we  may  have  no  doubts  as  to  its  correctness ;  but  we  can 
never  affirm  its  universal  validity.  In  the  case  mentioned,  an- 
other man  might  estimate  the  distance  to  be  three  hundred  feet, 
because  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  less  potent  to  his  senses.  But 
when  knowledge  is  sure,  when  we  have  ascertained  by  exact 
computation  the  relation  of  the  sun  to  its  planets,  then  error  is 
eliminated ;  and  private  acceptance  of  the  fact  counts  for  nothing 
in  establishing  its  validity."^*  The  lesson  which  this  experience 
teaches  is  that  much  of  man's  vaunted  knowledge  is  derived  from 
the  falsifying  impressions  of  the  body.  We  are  driven  into 
ignorance  by  the  involuntary  reactions  of  sense-organs.  Intel- 
lectual judgments  as  well  as  reflex  actions  proclaim  the  depth 
of  our  captivity. 

"II,  49.  Sch.  "Ill,  2,  Sch.  "II,  49,  Sch. 


CHAPTER  II 

PURPOSE  THE  MARK  OF  FREEDOM 

The  case  is  now  closed,  and  a  unanimous  verdict  is  rendered 
on  the  basis  of  convincing-  testimony.  Man  is  the  bondman  of 
nature.  He  dwells  in  a  world  whose  every  atom  is  immersed  in 
an  inflexible  causal  series.  His  ideas  are  governed  in  origin  and 
development  by  a  necessary  coordination  of  mind.  His  emo- 
tions are  aroused,  shaped  and  swayed  by  rigid  contact  with  ex- 
ternal bodies.  The  hypothesis  that  he  can  change  his  behavior 
or  environment  at  will  is  a  fatuous  mistake,  due  to  ignorance. 
Yet  in  face  of  such  cumulative  evidence  confirming  the  enslave- 
ment of  man,  Spinoza  hears  thrilling  through  his  being  the  note 
of  freedom.  He  beholds  his  body  weighted  with  the  chains  of 
matter;  but  he  is  not  satisfied.  His  soul  is  struggling  with  a 
mighty  hope.  Can  it  be  released?  Can  the  fact  of  servitude  so  / 
rigorously  enforced  be  offset  by  another  fact,  which  reflects  the 
rule  of  freedom?  This  is  the  problem.  He  is  unhesitating  in 
its  solution.  Man  is  in  part  free,  in  part  not  free.  To  demon- 
strate hian's  right  to  freedom  is  the  business  of  the  Ethics.  Is 
the  proof  conclusive  ?  Various  opinions  have  been  handed  down. 
We  select  two  historic  criticisms,  one  denying  freedom  utterly, 
the  other  granting  a  limited  kind  to  human  nature,  as  he  de- 
fines it. 

Jacobi  denies  that  rational  freedom  can  be  found  in  Spinoza's 
treatment  of  man.^  The  structure  of  the  self,  he  avers,  is 
strictly  mechanical;  its  one  and  only  duty  being  to  preserve  the 
power  of  existence.  The  desire  stirring  in  man  is  typical;  it 
knows  no  genus,  species  or  sex.  Yet  it  is  individualized  in  the 
conscious  self,  and  being  endowed  with  intelligence  appears  to 
act  by  volitional  intent.  It  is,  however,  subject  to  exact  de- 
termination by  physical  causes,  both  in  its  organic  and  ideational 

*Ueb€r  die  Lehre  des  Spinoza.    Werke;  4.  Band,  erste  Abt.;  S.  17,  u.  ig. 
Leipzig.    1819. 


20  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

forms.  The  conatus  alone  explains  the  personal  feeling  which 
organizes  reflective  thought  and  irrational  impulses  into  a  co- 
herent whole.  Hence  the  genius  of  Newton  can  be  reduced  to 
the  terms  of  organic  reaction.  The  practical  life  of  man  is  in 
like  manner  shaped  by  its  control.  If  constituent  desires  con- 
flict, they  will  eventually  be  harmonized  by  the  action  of  the 
same  basic  endeavor.  The  result  will  be  a  more  perfect  type 
of  character,  that  is,  one  more  highly  developed;  for  there  is 
nothing  intrinsically  bad  in  nature.  Being  necessary,  nature 
must  be  the  best.  So  what  man  secures  for  himself  must  be  the 
best.  His  very  assumption  of  freedom  is  proof  of  his  integration 
into  the  common  order  of  mechanism,  and  springs  from  a  sub- 
jective interest  in  his  own  condition;  just  as  we  might  watch  a 
valuable  plant  unfolding,  knowing  that  we  could  assist  it  only 
by  giving  its  chemical  formulas  the  best  field  in  which  to  work 
out  their  applications.     Freedom  like  this  is  nil. 

One  special  point  in  the  doctrine  is  cordially  condemned,  viz., 
the  exclusion  of  Liberty  of  Indifference,  or  the  power  of  con- 
trary choice.  There  are  three  possible  attitudes  towards  moral 
ability:  physical  necessity,  the  operation  of  the  machine;  moral 
necessity,  the  choice  of  the  best;  unrestrained  freedom  of  the 
will.  The  first  only  is  agreeable  with  Spinoza's  premises.  The 
second  resolves  itself  into  the  first;  the  third  is  explicitly  denied. 
Will  is  a  succession  of  mental  acts,  each  one  of  which  is  duly 
caused  by  antecedent  conditions.  It  cannot  therefore  exercise 
the  power  of  choosing  a  course  when  different  paths  are  open. 
In  fact,  the  mind  is  confronted  with  an  alternative.  The  privi- 
lege of  rejecting  every  proposed  motive  and  pursuing  an  inde- 
pendent course,  is  excluded  by  the  nature  of  man.  The  only 
power  possible  in  human  life  is  the  play  of  appetite,  which  is 
another  aspect  of  mechanical  force,  and  the  freedom  felt  in  the 
exertion  of  power,  instead  of  being  self -originated,  is  simply 
the  obverse  of  necessity. 

Another  and  quite  different  judgment  is  pronounced  by  a 
commentator  like  Kuno  Fischer. ^  Freedom,  he  says,  as  defined 
by  Spinoza  is  a  real  experience;  but  freedom  in  such  a  system 

'Geschichte  der  neueren  Philosophic,  Bd.  II,  S,  415  u-S.f. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  21 

has  nothing  to  do  with  the  framing-  of  conduct.  It  is  not  an 
ethical  fact ;  it  is  a  predicate  of  intelligence.  To  be  free  we  must 
endeavor  to  fashion  clear  and  distinct  ideas  of  all  emotions ;  and 
since  ideas  are  the  organ  of  mind,  we  can  realize  freedom  only 
in  knowledge.  Now  we  know  first  of  all  our  own  body  and  the 
physical  objects  which  touch  it.  But  we  only  know  that  they 
exist;  we  cannot  understand  by  organic  reactions  the  infinitude 
of  their  parts  and  relations.  The  same  thing  is  true  of  the 
mind;  the  single  image,  or  the  sum-total  of  consciousness,  is 
very  imperfectly  apprehended.  But  we  are  prone  to  accept  part- 
knowledge  as  authoritative ;  hence  we  frame  misleading  concepts, 
like  freedom,  purpose,  and  generic  notions.  We  can  make  our 
ideas  clear  and  our  knowledge  adequate  by  tracing  each  image, 
each  reaction,  to  its  cause.  By  this  method  we  perceive  the  rela- 
tion of  each  object  to  the  ''common  order  of  nature"  and  find 
that  ideas  and  things  are  one  and  the  same,  expressing  eternal 
substance  under  diflferent  attributes.  The  result  will  be  that  men 
are  no  longer  deceived  by  the  representations  of  sense.  Reason 
has  universalized  the  individual,  and  eventually  intuitive  knowl- 
edge will  open  up  the  essence  of  all  things,  that  is  to  say,  the 
being  of  God. 

At  this  point  the  ethical  implications  of  the  system  of  knowl- 
edge begin  to  emerge.  Emotion  is  the  key  to  character.  It  is 
at  first  entirely  passive,  an  organic  fact.  But  it  may  become  act- 
ive by  being  idealized,  that  is,  by  being  understood  in  its  rela- 
tion to  the  common  order.  Desire  and  volition  belong  to  the 
sphere  of  reaction;  they  are  marks  of  subjection  until  we  find 
their  cause,  stamp  them  with  reason,  and  lift  them  to  a  place  of 
supremacy  in  mental  experience.  Clear  ideas,  following  neces- 
sarily from  our  nature,  constitute  virtue  and  command  the  as- 
sent of  will.  They  alone  give  freedom,  for  they  alone  register 
our  growing  independence  of  desires  that  are  fed  by  sensuous 
experience.  Hence,  we  must  sharpen  in  thought  the  distinction 
between  good  and  evil,  falsity  and  truth.  Moral  perfection  being 
the  highest  emotion  is  won  by  adequate  knowledge.  Men  are 
deceived  now;  they  fancy  themselves  free;  they  are  in  the  bit- 
terest bondage.     Let  them  perceive  the  order  of  nature  and 


22  ^  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

come  into  conceptual  relations  with  the  world-laws.  Then  the 
claims  of  sense  are  silenced,  and  reason,  pointing  to  virtue, 
guides  their  hesitating  steps  to  perfect  knowledge.  The  spirit 
of  this  imperative,  not  its  form,  says  Fischer,  is  communicated 
by  Spinoza's  theory.  For  ethics,  as  taught  by  him,  is  not  a 
categorical  command,  but  a  mathematical  demonstration.  It 
does  not  issue  precepts,  it  conceives  the  laws  of  life.  Hence, 
knowledge  cannot  be  defined  as  a  purpose,  but  as  the  analysis 
of  man's  essential  nature.  Hence,  too,  the  attainment  of  knowl- 
edge will  be  the  realization  of  his  perfect  freedom.^ 

The  first  of  these  interpretations  places  Spinoza  in  an  un- 
enviable light  before  the  eyes  of  history.  He  stands  no  longer 
as  a  figure  to  the  rejected  but  as  a  dreamer  so  grossly  deceived 
as  to  be  an  object  of  pity.  At  one  moment  he  maintains  with 
convincing  detail  the  thesis :  Man  is  not  free ;  the  next,  he  an- 
nounces a  program  whose  key  note  is:  Man  ought  to  be  and 
is  free.  Does  he  mean  by  freedom  the  same  thing  in  each  case? 
If  he  does,  the  judgment  of  Jacobi  is  true;  and  the  book  which 
so  many  eager  spirits  have  fed  upon  becomes  a  tissue  of  con- 
tradictions. If  he  does  not,  then  we  ask.  What  are  the  two 
senses  in  which  we  may  use  the  word,  one  of  which  may  be 
denied,  the  other  asserted  with  perfect  consistency?  That  man 
is  free,  as  some  fondly  fancy,  to  change  the  course  of  nature 
or  disregard  her  laws, — this  is  the  sense  which  Spinoza  ve- 
hemently denies.  Man  in  this  respect  is  not  free.  Is  he  also 
in  some  respect  free? 

The  second  interpretation  finds  his  freedom  in  the  winning 
of  clear  ideas.  The  reflective  part  of  man  is  free,  the  part 
by  which  he  rises  to  the  contemplation  of  the  whole  of  nature. 
But  the  part  which  is  free  proves  on  this  view  to  be  so  very 
small  as  well  nigh  to  elude  our  quest,  and  so  difficult  to  develop 
that  it  exerts  no  influence  in  the  life  of  ordinary  men,  but  be- 
longs if  to  any  one  to  the  intellectual  saint.  On  the  other  hand 
the  freedom  which  Spinoza  means  is  not  prohibitive  in  its  terms. 
It  is  embodied  in  every,  even  the  simplest  purposeful  act,  and  is 
exercised  by  man  at  every  moment  of  his  life.     Every  act  is  in 

•Geschichte  der  neueren  Philosophic.    Band  II,  S,  540. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  23 

part  free,  in  part  not  free.  It  is  not  free,  insofar  as  it  is  con- 
ceived as  the  outcome  of  the  action  of  physico-chemical  forces. 
It  is  free,  when  it  can  be  clearly  understood  through  the  proper- 
ties of  man's  nature.^  We  may  arrange  such  acts  in  a  series  in 
which  the  degree  of  freedom  increases  and  which  has  for  its 
limit  the  fascinating  but  baffling  concept  of  an  absolutely  free 
soul.^  Thus  the  development  of  human  life  includes,  first,  the 
recognition  of  primary  or  typical  impulses,  next  the  weaving  of 
these  into  a  systematic  whole  called  character,  and  finally  the 
conceiving  of  a  Self  which  interprets  its  purpose  and  unity  by 
the  purpose  and  unity  of  the  world.  Our  present  duty  is  to 
ascertain  how  the  purposes  belonging  to  the  type  man  afford  a 
basis  for  freedom. 

I 

We  begin  by  pointing  out  that  the  order  of  nature  is  not  fully 
explained  by  the  category  of  mechanism.  That  category  answers 
the  question,  how  a  thing  is  done.  If  we  ask  how  a  body  per- 
forms the  actions  which  we  assign  to  it,  we  must  examine  its 
structure,  its  material  properties,  the  kind  of  force  at  work, 
molecular  attraction,  elasticity,  chemical  reaction  and  the  like. 
The  examination  will  show  that  one  element  depends  upon  an- 
other by  rigid  necessity;  that  this  result  could  never  have  been 
obtained  apart  from  that  combination  of  conditions.^  Thus,  to 
take  a  simple  example,  the  seizure  and  assimilation  of  food  is  a 
serial  relating  of  cause  to  effect.  Every  movement  which  grasps 
the  prey  and  conveys  it  to  the  body  can  be  estimated  in  terms 
of  physical  force.  The  digestive  apparatus  which  is  set  going 
as  soon  as  food  is  at  hand,  is  a  group  of  organs,  extremely  in- 
tricately appointed  in  some  species,  whose  every  reaction  records 
a  definite  amount  of  power  in  the  stimulus.  So  too,  there  are 
fixed  formulas,  to  which  may  be  reduced  all  the  chemical  fluids 
which  enter  into  the  activity  of  the  organ.  Hence  it  is  possible 
to  calculate  precisely  how  much  work  is  done  in  changing  an 
organism  from  the  state  of  hunger  to  the  satisfaction  of  an 
appeased  appetite.*^ 

*  III,  Def .  ii.  •  I,  28. 

■II,  Def.  vii.  'Cf.  Ill,  59,  Sch. 


24  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

But  our  account  so  far  has  paid  no  heed  to  certain  facts  which 
do  not  answer  the  question,  How.  They  are  as  essentially  con- 
nected with  the  frame  of  the  world  as  the  others  and  must  be 
duly  explained  if  we  are  to  leave  no  problem  standing.  These 
facts  invite  us  to  determine  why  a  thing  is  done,  to  what  end  a 
given  act  tends.  They  do  not  ask  how  a  thing  is  constructed,  or 
under  what  laws  or  by  what  means  it  has  attained  its  position. 
To  set  out  the  several  structural  stages  by  which  the  pinch  of 
hunger  is  subdued,  may  be  sufficient  for  the  demands  of  physi- 
ology. The  student  of  vital  phenomena,  however,  believes  his 
work  only  half  done.  Why  the  cells  and  tissues  combine  to 
form  an  organ  which  reacts  to  definite  stimuli,  is  the  problem 
before  him.  Mechanism  does  not  yield  an  answer.  It  cannot 
yield  any.  The  problem  is  not  of  structure,  but  of  function. 
The  same  materials  are  under  review,  but  they  are  differently  ap- 
praised. Heretofore  we  asked  how  they  operated;  now  we  ask 
what  they  do.  It  is  the  idea,  the  mind,  the  conceptual  being  of 
a  thing  (  ro  rC  rjv  elvai) ,  which  is  expressed  in  the  new  defini- 
tion.^ .  On  the  level  of  intelligence,  where  man  fashions  his 
conduct  to  suit  his  needs,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  calling  the 
idea  teleological.^  Closer  reflection  will  convince  us  that  every 
act,  whether  of  impulse  or  reflection,  has  its  inherent  purpose. 
We  may  carry  the  test  further  and  hold  that  the  frame  of  the 
world  bears  the  marks  of  purposive  coordination,  not  in  the 
sense  that  a  governing  Mind  has  conceived  an  end  to  which  all 
nature  is  inexorably  driven, ^^  but  in  the  sense  that  the  several 
parts  into  which  it  is  critically  broken  up  cannot  be  understood 
save  as  contributing  to  the  meaning  of  the  whole. ^^ 

Everything,  then,  possesses  an  idea  or  "soul,"  and  between 
idea  and  object,  that  is,  between  purpose  and  structural  arrange- 
ment, there  is  a  point-to-point  correspondence.^^  To  rank  the 
category  of  teleology  side  by  side  and  of  equal  authority  with 
that  of  mechanism,  is  to  offer  an  exhaustive  explanation  of  all 
facts  in  the  field  of  nature.  Brute  force  is  not  the  only  vehicle 
of  causality.    It  is  found  as  a  cause  in  planet  and  organism,  in 

» II,  7,  Sch.  "  I,  App.  "  II,  7>  n.  Sch. 

•IV,  24.  "C/.  I,  15,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  25 

the  Speck  of  dust  and  the  undeveloped  germ.  It  is  cUlgueltig, 
but  it  is  not  alleingueltig.^^  The  force  of  a  thing's  essence,  the 
purpose  of  its  existence,  exercises  a  causation  just  as  vaHd  and 
just  as  universal.^*  But  in  the  organic  world  the  teleological 
principle  can  be  more  readily  identified  than  among  purely  physi- 
cal forces.  Life,  the  peculiar  mark  of  the  organism,  can  not 
be  seen,  felt  or  weighed,  and  yet  no  organic  body  can  be  defined 
without  it.  Life  is  the  idea  of  the  thing  called,  say,  man ;  him- 
self certainly  a  compound  of  gases,  liquids  and  solids,^^  a  clus- 
ter of  cells,  that  never  deviate  in  action  from  the  prescribed  rules 
of  chemistry;  yet  at  the  same  time  a  ''force"  which  insists  on 
viewing  the  structure  as  a  whole.  To  say  that  an  organism 
liveSy  is  to  read  its  constituents  from  the  standpoint  of  their 
purpose.  Since  life  belongs  by  definition  to  it,  we  are  bound  to 
regard  purpose  as  a  cause  evincing  the  same  efficacy  that  we  find 
in  the  mechanical  order.  ^^ 

But  it  may  be  alleged  that  teleology  is  a  concept  of  the  ob- 
serving mind  and  has  no  real  place  in  the  course  of  nature ;  that 
it  is  an  epiphenomenon,  imposed  by  us  on  familiar  facts,  but  in- 
capable of  exerting  any  influence  on  their  adjustment.  We  study 
now  the  conscious  body,  for  man,  our  particular  subject,  finds 
his  purlieu  here.  If  the  objection  implies  that  to  be  effective 
teleology  must  be  a  new  material  force  ushered  in  to  counteract 
mechanical  forces  already  in  operation,  we  grant  it  at  once. 
Teleology  has  no  power  to  frustrate  the  movements  of  mechan- 
ism. Nor,  conversely,  can  physical  laws  interfere  with  the  true 
application  of  purpose.  They  are  different  aspects  of  the  same 
phenomena,  viewed,  as  Spinoza  says,  now  under  the  attribute  of 
thought,  and  again  under  the  attribute  of  extension. ^"^  If  the 
objector  conceives  that  teleology  is  designed  to  throw  new  light 
on  the  workings  of  mechanism,  he  misconstrues  the  doctrine. 
Purpose  is  not  brought  in  to  piece  out  an  explanation  which 
mechanical  formulas  cannot  complete.  It  deals  with  factors  in 
organic  life  which  mechanism  does  not  contemplate.     Mechan- 

"Cossman.    Die  Elemente  der  empirischen  Teleologie. 
"II,  45,   Sch.  "Ill,  57,  Sch. 

"II,  Post.  ii.  "Ill,  2,  Sch. 


2!^  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

ism,  we  say,  considers  the  attachment  of  one  term  to  its  im- 
mediate antecedent.  Teleology  asks  how  the  term  or  terms  are 
related  to  the  whole;  that  is  to  say,  how  they  conspire  to  effect 
an  end.  Parts  and  whole,  means  and  end  are  at  base  statements 
of  the  same  thing.  Thus,  parts  in  a  whole,  when  that  whole  is 
organic,  cannot  be  merely  quantities  added  together.  Adding 
the  number  of  organs  and  the  weight  of  cellular  tissues  would 
never  produce  a  total  organism.  Even  when  we  reckon  up  the 
mechanical  units  of  work  which  the  combined  parts  could  do, 
we  are  no  nearer  the  goal.  To  assess  the  value  of  the  parts, 
we  must  find  what  is  common  between  them  and  the  whole. 
Spinoza  calls  this  conceiving  an  object  adequately. ^^  This  can 
only  mean  that  the  action  of  the  part  is  conditioned  on  the  action 
of  the  organic  whole.  The  particular  act  of  an  organ  is  not  like 
the  flight  of  a  stone,  which  being  projected  by  the  hand  comes  to 
earth  again  and  sustains  no  further  connection  with  the  force 
that  gave  the  impulse.  The  organic  act  is  inevitably  construed 
in  terms  of  the  structure  of  the  body  in  which  it  occurs.  When 
the  arm  is  raised  and  the  fist  clenched,  and  a  violent  expulsion  of 
physical  force  made  through  the  sensori-motor  system,  we  con- 
strue the  movement  as  perfectly  harmonious  with  the  frame  and 
power  of  the  body.^^  The  parts  have  combined  into  a  unity. 
They  possess  the  common  elements  binding  them  to  the  organ- 
ism. The  same  effect  may  be  demonstrated  by  negative  proof. 
For  suppose  a  certain  reaction,  e.g.,  for  drink,  were  greatly 
heightened  and  threatened  to  become  the  controlling  impulse  in 
conduct.  Its  ascendancy  would  disturb  the  due  proportion  of 
power  as  between  part  and  whole,  and  in  damaging  the  whole 
would  react  upon  itself  to  its  own  disadvantage, — an  impossible 
condition,  as  we  shall  see.^^ 

But  the  connection  of  part  and  whole  goes  even  deeper  than 
this.  It  is  possible  to  conceive  of  a  machine  so  subtly  contrived 
and  put  together  that  its  parts  would  contribute  infallibly  to  the 
working  of  the  whole.  Such  parts,  successful  as  they  are  when 
together  in  realizing  the  purpose  of  the  mechanism,  are  by 
themselves  colorless  bits.    They  do  not  body  forth  the  composite 

^'11,38.  "IV,  59,  Sch.  *^IV,  60. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  27 

meaning  of  the  whole.  Organic  interaction  is  different.  Every 
organ  not  only  has  properties  in  common  with  the  organism;  it 
is  so  constructed  that  we  can  find  the  motives  of  the  body's  action 
in  the  action  of  a  part.^^  Thus,  the  sex-impulse  is  a  mirror  of 
the  lust  for  life.  For  not  only  does  it  serve  as  the  medium  for 
the  preservation  of  species;  its  exercise  duly  restrained  inures 
also  to  the  health  of  the  organism,  and  in  the  case  of  man  to 
his  ethical  uplift.^^  The  same  is  true  of  every  other  organic 
reaction.  Hence  we  have  an  infinitely  varied  and  complex  net- 
work of  impulses,  each  one  participating  in  the  nature  of  the 
organism,  or  as  Spinoza  puts  it,  every  desire  being  derived  from 
the  primary  appetite  which  affirms  the  existence  of  the 
individual.^^ 

The  relation  of  means  and  end  may  be  treated  in  the  same  way. 
An  organ  acts  toward  a  defined  end.  Its  function  is  determined 
by  the  result  to  be  achieved.  Hence,  an  organic  act  must  be 
sharply  distinguished  from  one  simply  mechanical.  We  must' 
interpret  it  in  terms  of  its  effect,  not  of  its  cause.  The  most 
rudimentary  impulse,  viz.,  for  food,  stands  over  against  the  end 
subserved,  the  preservation  of  the  body.  Hunger  and  life  are 
correlated  facts;  they  too  go  hand  in  hand.  But  how  can  an 
effect,  as  yet  unaccomplished,  mould  the  character  of  the  cause? 
How  can  a  future  goal  determine  a  present  course  of  action? 
Have  we  not  committed  the  fallacy  of  hysteron  proteron,  the 
effect  before  the  cause,  as  the  older  teleology  persistently  did  ?^^ 
Are  we  not  deliberately  making  volition  an  instrument  for  re- 
arranging the  members  of  the  mechanical  series?  We  answer, 
It  is  precisely  this  last  step  that  we  have  not  taken,  and  cannot 
take.  Every  analysis  that  makes  purpose  a  term  in  efficient 
causation  is  mistaken.  The  end  we  mean  is  not  dramatically 
conceived  as  an  object  of  quest;  it  is  implied  in  the  nature  of 
the  organism.  There  is  a  "good"  which  every  impulse  realizes, 
must  realize  potentially,  if  not  in  concrete  effect;  it  is  bound  up 
with  the  processes  of  the  body's  life.^^  The  tendency  involved 
in  a  given  impulse  may  or  may  not  arrive  at  its  goal.    In  many 

"II,  16.  "IV,   68,   Sch.;   c/.  infra,  pg.  1 16-7. 

"Ill,  II,  Sch.  "I,  App.  *III,   9,    Sch. 


28  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

cases  the  attempt  at  functioning  is  abortive.  Means  are  not  at 
hand  of  sufficient  strength  or  precise  quaHty  to  stimulate  re- 
action. The  "end"  is  never  reached.^^  But  such  a  lapse  does 
not  destroy  the  values  of  the  function.  They  remain,  in  effect, 
persistent  elements  in  organic  experience.  Torn  tissue  and 
deteriorated  organ  do  not  proclaim  the  failure  of  the  teleologi- 
cal  scheme;  they  cut  still  more  clearly  the  issue  between  it  and 
mechanism.  For  if  a  cleft  appear  in  the  physical  series,  we 
must  either  revise  the  data  upon  which  induction  was  based,  or 
confess  that  we  have  thus  far  missed  the  secrets  of  mechanical 
law.^*^  On  the  other  hand  purpose,  in  order  to  support  its  char- 
acter, does  not  need  to  reach  an  objective  goal. 

Purpose,  then,  evinces  a  tendency  in  which  the  nature  of  the 
end  is  mirrored.  Spinoza  adopts  for  his  central  term  a  word 
which  signalizes  this  fact.  He  calls  the  individual  a  Conatus. 
an  endeavor,  a  complex  of  related  impulses  which  unite  in  a 

""cofrmion^-^end.^^     The  business  of  man  is  to  strive  with  all  his 
powers  to  realize  his  appointed  end  as  fully  as  possible;  that  is 

-^o  say,  develop  to  the  best  of  his  ability  his  particular  organic 
impulses.  Take  the  instinct  of  gregariousness,  held  in  common 
with  many  members  of  lower  species.  Can  we  rightly  call  it  a 
propension  of  matured  humanity?  Suspicion,  hatred,  warfare 
argue  strongly  for  the  opposite  conclusion.  Hence,  satirists 
have  praised  the  life  of  pastoral  simplicity,  or  compared  men  to 
beasts,  to  the  obvious  disparagement  of  the  former.  But  the 
facts  of  experience  do  not  bear  out  the  stricture.  Whatever  be 
the  origin  of  the  coalescing  instinct,' — desire  for  warmth,  ties  of 
blood,  t>rotection  to  life  and  limb,  a  crude  distribution  of  eco- 
nomic labors, — it  is  true  that  human  beings  cannot  live  per- 
manently apart  without  serious  injury.  Men  need  the  clash  and 
friction,  the  sympathy  and  help  of  their  kind,  both  for  individual 
growth  and  racial  progress. ^^  The  instinct  which  works  its  way 
into  the  most  refined  type  of  government  is,  at  the  start,  a 
natural  impulse  seeking  outlet.  It  is  a  tendency  that  must  be 
interpreted  by  reference  to  the  end  in  view.    Thus,  it  can  never 

^•IV,  3.  "111,7. 

"1,29.  »IV,  35,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  29 

be  satisfied  by  contact  with  inarticulate  animals.  They  belong  to 
one  order  of  reality,  man  to  another.  They  may  evince  a  kind 
of  affection  and  elicit  from  us  a  genuine  feeling  of  regard.^^ 
But  tendencies  move  only  on  horizontal  lines.  They  are  gauged 
by  the  nature  of  the  organism  in  which  they  operate,  such  organ- 
ism being  coincident  with  the  end  proposed.  We  are  therefore 
brought  back  to  the  first  principle  of  organic  character,  viz.,  that 
the  part  will  inevitably  reflect  the  properties  of  the  whole,  and 
vice  versa.  ^^  But  we  get  an  advance  in  thought  from  a  static  to 
a  dynamic  point  of  view.  We  see  now  the  continuous  unfolding 
of  the  individual's  powers.  The  conation,  the  push,  the  strong 
aggressive  principle  of  organization  in  man,  animal  and  plant, 
sharpens  the  division  between  facts  which  show  purpose  and 
facts  which  express  the  mechanical  ideal.  Purpose  as  a  cause 
is  conditioned  in  result  by  its  own  impulsive  type. 

The  world,  then,  to  which  man  is  introduced  is  two-faced. 
It  looks  out  upon  a  scene  throbbing  with  the  activity  of  force. 
Man  is  under  constraint.  He  is  bound  hand  and  foot  to  the 
wheel  of  law.  His  every  act  bespeaks  the  uniformity  of  nature, 
from  whose  dominion  he  cannot  withdraw.  The  same  world 
presents  another  view,  not  to  contradict  but  to  expound  the  first. 
Here  man  is  free.  He  has  not  put  off  the  garments  of  serfdom ; 
he  has  transfigured  them  with  a  new  meaning.  Cells  and  tissues 
and  physical  reactions  are  not  the  whole  tale  of  his  life.  They 
could  be  of  no  value  to  him,  could  not  constitute  him  a  man, 
apart  from  an  organizing  principle.  Chemical  formulas  do  not 
include  it;  it  is  teleological.  So  conspicuous  a  fact  we  may  not 
venture  to  neglect.  Hence,  we  ask,  How  does  purpose  moving 
in  conation  insure  freedom?  Or  rather,  if  purpose  be  the  mark 
of  freedom,  what  kind  of  freedom  shall  we  get?  It  cannot  be 
the  kind  of  freedom  which  Jacobi  invokes.  That  springs  full- 
orbed  from  an  unpurposed  mind,  a  kind  of  mental  vacuum. 
Freedom,  says  Spinoza,  is  generated  from  within. ^^  Man,  we 
know,  is  not  free  on  the  plane  of  sense-perception.  He  responds 
to  stimulus,  whether  he  will  or  no.  But  on  the  other  hand  can 
the  unguided  exertion  of  will  yield  freedom?    Deeper  still,  can 

*>  IV,  Z7,  Sch.  ''  II,  38,  '^  II,  29,  Sch. 


30  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

the  mind  ever  give  birth  to  thought  without  sufficient  cause? 
Thinkers  Hke  Fichte  have  accepted  a  formal  freedom,^^  which 
selects  its  point  of  departure.  But  on  examination  it  turns  out 
to  be  nothing  but  an  ideal,  standing  at  the  end  of  a  dialectic 
indefinitely  continued.  Real  freedom  has  its  direction  deter- 
mined and  moves  within  bounds;  like  the  rushing  river,  whose 
definition  prescribes  a  channel  beyond  whose  limits  it  may  not 
pass;  like  the  triangle,  whose  interior  angles  must  be  equal  to 
two  right  angles  or  it  ceases  to  be  triangular.^*  Hence,  we  are 
guilty  of  error  if  we  set  "necessary"  and  "free"  over  against  one 
another.  They  are  not  contrary  terms.  For  if  they  were,  God 
would  know  himself  freely,  but  not  by  necessity, — which  would 
drive  the  wedge  of  chance  into  the  divine  nature.  Pari  passu,  if 
a  man  wills  to  live  and  love,  he  acts  by  unpremeditated  thrust,' — 
a  sort  of  spontaneous  combustion  of  soul.  The  will  is  a  property 
of  the  understanding,  subject  at  all  times  to  its  laws.  Freedom 
is  not  unleashed  volition;  freedom  is  determined.^^ 

But  determined  by  what?  What  is  the  thing  which  requires 
the  interior  angles  to  make  a  particular  equation?  What  fact 
of  body  submits  its  several  qualities  to  a  searching  test,  with  a 
view  to  ascertaining  their  relations  ?^^  We  answer.  The  nature 
of  the  individual  determines  the  field  of  freedom.  An  organism 
can  do  just  that  for  which  it  is  fitted  by  the  structure  and  co- 
herence of  its  parts,  and  nothing  more.  Its  grade  of  freedom 
corresponds  to  the  type  of  purpose  involved.  To  seek  the  kind 
of  action  belonging  to  an  insect  in  the  body  of  a  horse  is  pal- 
pably absurd. ^"^  To  interpret  the  mind  of  man  by  the  data  of 
animal  psychology  is  to  misjudge  the  office  of  purpose  and  hope- 
lessly confuse  our  ideas  of  freedom.  To  attribute  to  vegetable 
life  the  functions  which  only  the  highly  intellectualized  nature 
of  man  can  exercise  shows  gross  ignorance  of  the  idea  of  cause.^^ 
Yet  while  this  is  true,  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.  There  are  cer- 
tain type-purposes  common  to  all  branches  of  the  organic  king- 
dom.   Man  is  heir  to  these,  and  so  are  the  oak,  the  lily,  and  the 

"  Wissenschaf tslehre,  1801.    2.   Teil,  sect.  31.  "II,  29,  Sch. 

*♦  Cf.  II,  49,  Demonstration  (=Dem.)  "  IV,    Pref. 

"Epis.  S^'  "I»  8,  Sch.  ii. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  31 

blade  of  grass.  There  are  other  conations  which  find  a  place 
only  in  conscious  life.  Man  shares  his  treasures  here  with  the 
amoeba,  the  insect  and  the  dog.^^  There  are  still  other  purposes 
which  are  found  in  the  type  man,  and  these  determine  the  grade 
of  freedom  peculiar  to  reason.  But  freedom  does  not  wait  for 
its  sceptre  until  the  highest  grade  is  reached.  It  follows  the 
line  of  purpose.  For  wherever  purpose  appears,  at  that  point 
appears  too  the  "power  to  begin  by  itself."^^  Thus,  given  the 
same  conditions  in  either  case,  the  reaction  is  set  up  when  life  is 
present;  when  life  is  extinct  there  is  no  reaction.  Hence  we  con- 
clude that  freedom  is  not  a  predicate  of  reflective  mind  alone; 
but  may  be  applied  also  to  the  simplest  impulse  of  organic  life; — 
which  means  that  every  emotion  in  the  sphere  of  human  conduct, 
whether  elementary  or  refined,  is  ultimately  a  fit  subject  of  ethi- 
cal valuation."*^ 

II 
What  are  the  type-purposes  which  man  has  in  common  with 
all  organized  beings  ?  To  answer  this  question  we  must  examine 
the  field  in  which  they  are  at  work.  Confining  ourselves  to  the 
grade  of  consciousness,  we  discern  in  each  body  a  certain  equip- 
ment which  it  has  had  no  part  in  producing.*^  This  individual 
man,  brought  into  existence  by  natural  causes,^^  is  a  complex  of 
appetites,  each  one  being  determined  to  its  own  activity  by  a 
calculable  modification  of  its  organ.^^  Life  then  is  impulsive  in 
the  sense  not  only  that  it  is  acted  upon,  but  that  it  acts.  The 
organism  is  the  seat  of  power. *^  But  power  is  not  merely  a 
complex  of  mechanical  forces  moving  as  we  conceive  them  to 
move  in,  e.g.,  an  electric  charge.  Power  here  is  coupled  with 
the  idea  of  purpose,  an  end  to  be  pushed  towards.  Hence,  physi- 
cal force  emerging  in  bodily  reaction  is  appetite  or  purpose  at 
work.  By  a  phenomenon  which  organization  alone  exhibits, 
beginning  and  end  are  joined.  "That  for  the  sake  of  which  we 
do  anything  is  desire."^^    If  now  the  power  of  an  organism  be 

"III,  28.  *MII,  57,  Sch.  **III,  Def.  Emot.  i. 

*Kant,  Kritik  der  Urtheilskraft,  §  65.  ^'IH,  12. 

**IV,  App.  XXX.  ^I,  17,  Sch.  **IV,  Def.  vii. 


32  JAMES  H,  DUNHAM 

appetite,  it  must  be  subject  to  variations  in  intensity,  since  every 
new  approach  to  an  object  changes  the  attitude  of  the  agent 
and  sets  up  new  reactions.  The  change  in  attitude  is  a  readjust- 
ment of  the  relations  of  motion  and  rest  within  the  body,^"^  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  sensori-motor  system.  It  follows  from  the 
satisfaction  of  a  definite  appetite.^^  Thus,  in  the  example  al- 
ready cited,  hunger  is  the  impulse,  and  food  the  means  for  grat- 
ifying it.  When  food  has  entered  the  body  and  been  assimilated, 
instantly  an  agreeable  feeling  is  superinduced,  and  the  body  af- 
firms a  new  state  of  perfection.^^  When  the  emotion  is  not 
periodic,  but  a  steady  experience,  we  call  it  love;  and  the  wish 
accompanying  it  is  not,  as  some  think,  a  deliberate  aim  con- 
ceived in  the  mind,  but  the  contentment  incident  to  the  reaching 
of  its  end.^^  When  we  rise  to  the  consideration  of  psychic 
states,  we  may  compare  the  impressions  made  by  images  of 
things  present  and  things  past  or  future,  and  weigh  their  respec- 
tive pleasures, — ^being  warned,  however,  that  memory  is  apt  to 
bring  contrary  images  in  its  train,  disturbing  and  perhaps  pain- 
ing the  mind.^^  These  are  samples  of  the  increasing  degree  of 
gratification,  parallel  to  the  kind  of  purpose  at  work.  The 
greater  the  scope  of  gratification,  the  greater  the  capacity  for 
freedom. 

Impulse  defines  the  nature  of  life  and  blocks  out  its  stadium. 
But  what  is  its  content?  Is  it  a  single,  comprehensive,  sovereign 
impulse,  a  universal  type-purpose,  or  is  it  broken  into  constitu- 
tive bits?  "Everything,"  says  Spinoza,  "insofar  as  it  is  in  it- 
self endeavors  to  persevere  in  its  own  being.  "^^  This  is  the  first 
and  fundamental  truth:  there  is  nothing  prior  to  it.^^  The 
mechanical  analogue  of  this  truth  lies  in  the  fact  that  two  forces, 
contrary  to  one  another,  e.g.,  fire  and  water,  cannot  coexist  in 
the  same  body;^*  the  teleological,  lies  in  the  definition  of  organ- 
ism, which  includes  a  tendency  at  least  ideally  to  reach  the  end.^^ 
The  actual  lasting-time  of  the  body  cannot  affect  the  application 
of  the  law.  Just  so  soon  as  an  infant  draws  its  first  breath,  it  has 


« II,  Lem.  ii. 

"  III,  Def .  Emot  vi. 

"IV,  22,  C 

«III,  II,  Sch. 

•'  III,  i8,  Sch.  i. 

-111,5. 

*»III,  59,  Sch. 

"111,6. 

"Ill,  7. 

FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  33 

affirmed  the  will  to  live.  If  we  adopted  the  point  of  view  of 
Schopenhauer,  we  might  say  that  finite  things,  insofar  as  they 
express  universal  reality,  cannot  be  destroyed.^  ^  Will,  impulse, 
purpose  are  permanently  real.  Their  embodiment  in  person  or 
thing  is  subject  to  decay.  Spinoza  accepts  the  eternity  of  type- 
character,  or  essence,' — "so  careful  of  the  type" ;  but  type-charac- 
ter can  no  more  be  defeated  or  obscured,  when  residing  in  the 
individual,  than  when  thought  of  as  a  logical  principle.  Thus, 
we  cannot  and  will  not  lift  a  finger  to  compass  our  own  death. 
The  regimen  laid  upon  us  by  entrance  into  the  sphere  of  purpose 
forbids  it.  When  a  man  takes  his  life,  we  argue  that  constraint 
was  put  upon  him, — physical  force,  moral  obligation  as  when 
Seneca  died  at  the  emperor's  command,  or  mental  rupture.  He 
could  not  by  voluntary  consent  defy  and  degrade  the  dominant 
type-impulse  of  human  nature.^"  It  is  here  that  Spinoza  parts 
company  with  Schopenhauer.  The  will  to  live  cannot  be  disan- 
nulled, even  in  face  of  its  crumbling  tenements.  For  after  all 
the  only  experience  we  have  with  the  universal  precept  is  in  the 
body,  our  own  individuality.  To  give  up  that  for  absorption  in 
the  world-will  is  unreal  and  impractical,  and  offers  no  room  for 
the  progressive  apprehension  of  freedom.  The  man  who  knows 
himself  to  be  free  guides  his  course  by  the  famiHar  maxim  that 
discretion  is  the  better  part  of  valor.^^ 

That  the  primary  impulse  holds  the  key  to  the  meaning  of  an 
organism,  is  proved  by  the  fact  of  its  untimed  duration.  "The 
endeavor  wherewith  a  thing  endeavors  to  persevere  in  its  being, 
involves  not  a  definite  but  an  indefinite  time."^^  Life  has  no 
date.  In  this  respect  it  differs  from  a  term  in  the  mechanical 
series.  The  swing  of  a  celestial  body  about  its  orbit  can  be  cal- 
culated to  the  fraction  of  a  second;  but  who  has  ever  reckoned 
with  such  precision  the  life-span  of  a  man?  "If  we  knew  all 
the  terms  in  the  series,  we  could  predict  to  the  moment  the  event 
of  death."  The  argument  from  ignorance  is  worth  just  what  it 
says,  and  no  more.    It  is  here  that  the  type-purpose  yields  a  clear 

••I,  21.  "^IV,  69. 

"IV,  20,  Sch.  "^III,  8. 


34  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

guaranty  of  freedom.  To  follow  a  course  that  is  unpredictable 
means  that  at  some  point,  here  or  there,  the  agent  may  exert  its 
"power  to  begin  by  itself."  The  clash  with  forces  outside  and 
foreign  to  the  body's  nature  furnish  the  necessary  occasions. 
They  produce,  if  unchecked,  a  lowering  of  the  bodily  temper- 
ature.^^ This  is  pain.  Pain  could  not  exist  if  every  reaction 
were  explained  by  the  needs  of  organic  maintenance.  And  if 
pain,  the  crush  of  greater  forces,  did  not  exist,  life  would  go  on 
undiminished  in  power  and  must  prove  itself  infinite.^^  The 
history  of  the  world  is  directly  against  this  hypothesis.  Not  only 
is  every  individual  surpassed  in  power  by  another,  organized 
matter  included,  but  the  actual  status  of  any  reactive  capacity  at 
a  given  moment  is  defined  not  by  its  intrinsic  character,  but  by 
the  value  of  the  impressions  made  upon  it  from  without.^^  Thus, 
the  instinct  of  defense  is  affected  by  the  degree  of  contiguity  of 
the  aggressor,  on  the  principle  that  every  emotion  whose  cause 
is  apprehended  as  nearby,  is  stronger  than  if  the  cause  is  con- 
ceived as  remote.^^  Even  when  the  stimulus  has  only  a  resem- 
blance to,  and  is  not  identical  with  the  sworn  enemy,  the  feeling 
of  resentment  is  awakened  and  drives  the  organism  to  remove 
the  intruder  from  the  field  of  influence.  In  man  this  same  im- 
pulse becomes  a  resolute  attempt  to  repay  in  kind  an  injury 
which  has  been  undeservedly  inflicted.^* 

Instances  like  these  throw  into  sharp  relief  the  individual's 
struggle  to  perpetuate  itself  against  great  odds,  amid  many  de- 
feats, and  facing  eventual  extermination.  They  assure  us  for 
one  thing  that  alien  forces,  vigorous  as  they  are,  cannot  put  an 
end  to  organic  initiative  so  long  as  life  lasts.  Such  initiative  is 
ingenious  and  diversified.  The  human  body,  for  example,  can 
determine  the  place  of  neighboring  bodies  and  arrange  them  in 
a  variety  of  ways.  Every  such  arrangement  receives  a  new 
defiinition.  It  is  no  longer  read  simply  as  a  collocation  of  physi- 
cal elements.  The  mechanical  ideal  is  undisturbed,  but  upon  it 
a  new  term  has  been  superimposed.  Yonder  house  is  a  composite 
of  materials  and  forces,  obedient  to  fixed  rules.     Is  that  a  full 

~ni,  13,  Sch.  "IV,  3.  5.  •*ni,  i6.  28,  40,  C.  ii. 

"IV,  4,  Dem.  "IV,  9. 


I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  3.5 

account?  Is  this  structure  one  that  has  tumbled  into  place  like 
a  heap  of  rocks  lying  at  the  mountain's  base  ?  No ;  a  new  factor 
is  added.  We  call  it  purpose.  Now  purpose  is  always  connected 
with  an  organic  system.  A  house,  a  nest,  a  honeycomb  is  tele- 
ological,  because  it  springs  from  a  system  that  has  the  power  of 
adapting  means  to  an  end.  The  house  can  express  the  organic 
character  of  the  builder,  and  nothing  else.  Hence,  it  is  insuffi- 
cient to  say  we  build  our  house  as  a  place  of  residence,  as  though 
to  conform  our  action  to  an  extra-organic  scheme.  The  builder 
conceives  the  "conveniences  of  household  life,"  and  finds  germi- 
nating in  his  mind  a  desire  to  reaHze  them  in  a  house  of  his  own. 
Translated  into  teleological  terms,  this  means  that  the  impulse  of 
self-preservation  drives  us  to  mould  the  resources  of  nature  into 
shapes  agreeable  to  our  end.^^  In  short,  the  type-end  is  fixed, 
although  the  means  vary  in  proportion  to  the  reactive  capacity 
or  degree  of  freedom  attained.  The  end  being  defined  by  the 
appetite  belongs  to  the  system ;  it  cannot  be  sought  without.  For 
if  one  tried  to  continue  his  existence  for  the  sake  of  something 
else,  he  would  destroy  the  organizing  principle,  leave  his  body  a 
prey  to  conflicting  stimuli  and  defeat  the  very  purpose,  hypo- 
thetically  proposed,  viz.,  maintenance  of  life  for  the  sake  of 
another.  ^^ 

Again,  the  means  adopted  must  be  harmonious  to  the  sys- 
tem whose  end  they  are  to  subserve.  Every  system  responds  to 
its  own  kind  of  stimulus,  and  to  no  other.  The  habits  of  the  ant 
are  different  from  the  habits  of  the  bird ;  hence,  their  homes  are 
different,  although  the  instinct  governing  the  making  of  hill  or 
nest  is  the  same.  It  follows  that  any  object  which  fails  to  set 
up  reaction  in  a  neighboring  organism  can  be  of  no  benefit  to 
it.  They  do  not  agree. ^^  Or,  if  a  reaction  is  set  up,  but  is  ac- 
companied by  a  feeling  of  depression,  the  harmony  of  the  sys- 
tem suffers  impairment,  temporarily  at  least.  Thus,  envy  and 
jealousy  lessen  the  power  of  body,  by  revealing  our  own  inepti- 
tude in  comparison  with  another's  triumphs.  The  balance  can 
only  be  redressed  by  misconstruing  the  actions  of  other  men,  or 
unduly  magnifying  our  own.  In  either  case,  the  harmony  is 
•IV,  Pref.  -IV,  25.  "IV,  31. 


SS  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

of  a  shadowy  sort  and  soon  vanishes. ^^  To  insure  exact  adapta- 
tion of  external  objects  to  organizing  purpose,  we  must  fix  upon 
those  which  contribute  to  organic  growth.  This  is  the  one  and 
sure  test.  The  law  upon  which  we  proceed  reads  thus:  "In 
proportion  as  a  given  body  is  more  fitted  than  others  for  acting 
and  being  acted  upon  in  many  ways  at  the  same  time,  in  that 
proportion  is  its  mind  more  fitted  than  others'  to  receive  many 
simultaneous  perceptions."^®  Growth,  in  other  words,  is  the 
increasing  capacity  for  receiving  and  correlating  the  impressions 
of  the  outside  world. 

Now  correlation  demands  a  something  to  which  impressions 
are  necessarily  related, — not  a  substratum  in  which  sensuous 
qualities  inhere,  but  a  teleological  principle  explaining  why  per- 
ceptions fit  into  the  movements  of  the  system.  For  this  reason 
growth  cannot  be  measured  by  bulk,  shape,  movability  or  chemi- 
cal reaction.  Otherwise  a  stone  would  possess  the  same  correlat- 
ing power  as  the  body  of  man.  Those  properties  are  common  to 
all  physical  objects  and  do  not  offer  a  basis  for  comparison. "^^ 
To  correlate  perceptions  is  to  add  a  term  not  included  in  the 
mechanical  estimate,  viz.,  the  end  in  view.  They  must  affirm  the 
value  of  the  conation,  our  power  of  activity.'''^  If  the  functional 
discharge  be  below  the  threshold  of  consciousness,  its  purposive 
character  is  just  as  real  as  though  we  had  deliberately  begun, 
e.g.,  to  breathe  or  digest  our  food.'^^  If  the  action  be  purely  re- 
flexive its  correlative  force  is  equally  valid.  Thus,  we  draw 
away  the  hand  from  a  hot  iron  by  a  sudden  exertion  of  muscular 
power  which  allows  the  mind  no  time  to  form  a  resolution.  So 
intricate  and  far-reaching  does  the  reflex  become  in  highly  organ- 
ized structures,  that  we  imitate  the  sudden  removal  of  another's 
hand,  although  we  ourselves  have  felt  no  pain.  The  eye  auto- 
matically correlates  the  motion,  perhaps  with  previous  exper- 
iences now  crystallized  into  habit,  perhaps  with  the  type-impulse 
of  repeating  the  "emotion"  of  another."^^ 

Particular  capacities  for  responding  to  external  stimulus  vary 
with  different  organisms.     In  one  group  the  capacity  is  entirely 

~  III,  55,  Sch.  "  IV,  32,  Sch.  "  III,  Def .  Emot.  i. 

"II,  13,  Sch.  "Ill,  54-  ''III'  Def.  Emot.  xxxiii. 


r 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  57 


instinctive.  The  power  to  act  appears  to  be  full-grown  at  birth. 
At  any  rate  the  instinct,  e.g.,  of  a  spider  to  weave  his  web  is  not 
better  fitted  to  realize  the  end  after  a  dozen  exertions  than  at 
the  start. "^^  On  the  other  hand  the  human  species  passes  through 
perceptible  changes  from  infancy  to  old  age.  The  child  is  ex- 
tremely limited  in^vthe  use  of  his  type-impulses;  bright  color, 
motion,  unusual  sounds,  certain  tactual  sensations  like  tickling 
fill  his  repertory.  Time  and  practice,  change  of  environment, 
acquired  traits  transform  him  into  a  being  responsive  to  a  myriad 
stimuli  which  are  eventually  conceived  as  making  for  a  common 
purpose. '^^  Potentially,  we  may  say,  in  germ,  man  has  his  fac- 
ulties complete  at  birth.  Actually,  he  takes  many  years  to  un- 
fold what  ant  and  spider  can  exercise  at  once.  Hence  the  mode 
of  development  becomes  a  matter  of  surpassing  interest. ^^ 

How  does  the  growth  of  sense-perception  take  place?  The 
principle  of  association  is  the  first  instrument  at  hand.  "If  the 
mind,"  says  Spinoza,  "has  been  affected  by  two  emotions  at  the 
same  time,  it  will  in  the  future  when  affected  by  one  be  also  af- 
fected by  the  other."'^^  A  certain  type-perception,  e.g.,  of  the 
eye,  could  never  progress  in  efficiency,  could  never  lead  to  true 
knowledge,  if  it  consisted  of  a  succession  of  unrelated  images, 
set  up  as  reactions  to  adjacent  objects.  To  satisfy  the  purpose 
of  the  primitive  appetite,  the  lust  for  life,  perceptions  of  different 
sense-organs  must  be  exactly  and  immediately  correlated.  For 
example,  the  hunger  of  the  dog,  the  rabbit  once  tasted,  the  sight 
of  similar  prey  on  the  succeeding  day,  the  juxtaposition  of  the 
percepts  of  sight  and  taste,  this  is  the  law  of  association,  which 
Spinoza  lays  at  the  foundation  of  his  psychology. "^^  The  pro- 
gressive application  of  the  law  under  ever  more  complex  con- 
ditions constitutes  the  growth  of  an  organism,  and  in  the  course 
of  ages  also  the  development  of  a  species.'''^ 

Again,  the  principle  of  acquired  traits  is  central  to  this  scheme. 
"Anything  can.  by  accident  {i.e.,  not  necessarily  included  in  the 

'*C/.  Ill,  57,  Sch.  "C/.  Hobhoiise,   Development  and   Purpose. 

'^V,  39,  Sch.  "111,14.      • 

'•  IV,  38. 
"  III,  14. 


3S  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

impulse]  be  the  cause  of  pleasure,  pain  and  desire. "^^  Not  what 
a  certain  function  does  in  its  usual  discharge  but  what  it  effects 
when  a  new  stimulus  acts  upon  it,  is  ofttimes  the  determining 
fact  in  organic  life.  It  is  thus  that  the  house-dog  is  trained  by 
successive  correlations  to  follow  the  chase,  and  the  hunting-dog 
no  longer  to  react  to  the  scent  of  the  hare.^^  The  polarizing  of 
type-reactions  into  differentiating  habits  is  the  sure  way  of  mark- 
ing the  growth  of  a  particular  impulse.  For  one  emotion  may 
be  fixed  so  deeply  in  the  organic  structure  as  to  overcome  all 
countervailing  emotions^^  and  even  reproduce  itself  in  the  off- 
spring. Then  a  new  line  is  cloven,  the  curve  of  progress  is 
shaped.  This  successful  organism  has  received  and  correlated 
at  one  time  more  sense-perceptions  than  its  nearest  neighbor. ^^ 
Still  further:  the  principle  of  opposition  plays  an  important 
part  in  developing  the  individual.  Pain,  depression,  fatigue  are 
bound  to  enter  the  scheme  of  life,  since  power  is  graded.  But 
pain  is  contrary  to  the  elemental  conation  and  cannot  be  in- 
dolently harbored.  Hence,  the  effort  to  remove  it  must  be  pro- 
portionate to  the  intensity  of  suffering.^*  The  more  desperate 
the  body's  plight  the  more  determined  will  be  the  output  of 
strength  to  rescue  it  or  any  part  from  dissolution.  The  curative 
and  compensatory  appliances  of  organic  nature,  e.g.,  growth  of 
new  skin,  or  the  heightening  of  the  sense  of  touch  when  the  optic 
nerve  has  been  destroyed,  prove  decisively  how  far  it  has  gone 
from  the  mere  mechanical  control  of  forces. ^'^  Such  a  remark- 
able psychical  correlation  as  is  witnessed  in  the  animal's  endeavor 
to  remove  the  instrument  of  pain  from  the  presence  of  its  young 
shows  the  possible  extent  of  the  principle. ^^  Indeed,  for  all  or- 
ganized creatures  there  can  be  no  surcease  of  effort  until  equilib- 
rium be  restored,  the  body  exerting  its  type-reactions  in  face  of 
every  possible  stimulus,  the  mind  correlating  every  experience 
into  a  conscious  whole.  ^'^  We  conclude  that  an  organism  whose 
fundamental  tendency  unfolds  in  a  series  of  harmonious  acts  and 
habits  is  heir  to  a  freedom  none  the  less  defined  than  that  of  the 
reflective  mind  of  man.    Whatever  acts  by  purpose  is  free. 


~ni,  15. 

"Ill,  56,  Dem. 

-C/.  Ill,  22. 

«V,  Pref. 

-Ill,  II,  Sch. 

"IV,  45,  Sch. 

"IV,  6. 

-Ill,  Z7,  Dem. 

FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  39 

III 

Thus  far  we  have  analyzed  the  principle  of  self-preservation. 
We  have  found  that  it  expresses  the  nature  of  an  organism,  viz., 
the  adaptation  of  means  to  end,  that  it  accounts  for  the  changes 
incident  to  growth,  that  it  unifies  all  reactions,  no  matter  from 
what  stimulating  causes,  and  organizes  them  into  a  system. 
We  have  seen,  too,  that  apparently  separate  type-impulses,  like 
resentment,  association,  imitation,  are  reducible  to  this.  There 
remains  another  appetite  universally  at  work,  that  of  reproduc- 
tion, and  this  we  must  for  a  moment  consider. 

The  supreme  test  by  which  organism  and  mechanical  con- 
trivance are  distinguished  has  by  some  been  set  up  here.^^  Can 
this  bundle  of  physical  properties  perpetuate  its  kind?  If  it  can, 
its^  teleological  character  is  unquestionably  demonstrated.  Spin- 
oza recognizes  the  importance  of  this  impulse,  and  argues  that 
while  the  specific  nature  of  living  bodies  is  different,  while  we 
define  a  horse  in  other  terms  than  those  applied  to  man,  insect 
or  bird,  the  procreative  instinct  is  the  same,  a  power  which  all 
possess  by  virtue  of  their  common  organic  heritage. ^^  The 
point  now  to  be  determined  is,  whether  the  impulse  is  independ- 
ent of  the  will-to-be, — a  competitor  for  equal  rank  in  the  affec- 
tions of  the  race;  or  whether  it  must  be  subsumed  under  the  first 
as  contributing  to  its  realization.  Spinoza,  we  do  not  hesitate 
to  say,  took  the  second  view.  The  organism,  insofar  as  it  is 
active,  can  accept  no  stimulus  save  what  tends  to  promote  its 
lust  for  life.  If  the  racial  instinct  entails  disastrous  conse- 
quences, as  it  frequently  does,  it  is  excluded  as  a  key  to  the 
knowledge  of  its  terms.  To  many  this  view,  when  applied  to 
ethics,  grafts  the  grossest  kind  of  impiety  and  selfishness  on  the 
character  of  man.^^  Their  mistake  arises  from  equating  the 
two  impulses  as  of  primary  and  therefore  competitive  value. 
The  source  of  all  teleological  values,  Ethics  included,  is  utility, — 
what  will  secure  the  individual  welfare.  Thus  the  functioning  of 
the  sex-impulse,  as  of  others,  is  estimated  in  terms  of  pleasure. 

"  Cf.    Kant,    Urtheilskraft,    §    80.       "^  IV,  19,  Sch. 
"  III,  57,  Sch. 


40  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

Now  pleasure  is  not  simply  an  empirical  fact;  it  is  involved  in 
the  nature  of  the  impulse.  We  endeavor  to  affirm  concerning 
ourselves  everything  which  we  conceive  to  affect  us  favorably.^ ^ 
The  racial  instinct  carries  with  it  an  idea  of  gratification,  a 
heightening  of  the  bodily  feeling.  Hence,  the  organism  seizes 
upon  the  object  which  promises  to  effect  that  end. 

At  this  point  the  acquisitive  faculty  lends  its  aid.  The  animal 
not  only  desires  food,  but  takes  steps  to  procure  it.  The  child 
not  only  conceives  an  interest  in  what  his  neighbor  has,  but 
makes  a  bold  effort  to  appropriate  it.^^  The  mature  man  seeks 
to  acquire  both  the  property  and  so  to  say  the  personality  of  his 
fellowmen.  He  does  his  best  to  make  other  men  live  according 
to  his  scheme  of  social  order.^^  In  no  field  is  this  instinct  so 
inveterately  urgent  as  in  the  relations  of  the  sexes.  The  male 
desires  his  mate,  not  as  in  the  reflective  stage  of  human  life  for 
the  propagation  of  the  species,  but  solely  for  the  nourishing  of 
the  particular  organ,  without  whose  proper  satisfaction  the 
equilibrium  of  the  body  could  not  be  maintained.^*  Individual 
desires  incidentally  foster  the  interests  of  the  race;  but  this  is 
not  their  primary  purpose. 

Does  this  account  seem  to  reverse  the  natural  order?  Must 
we  not  rather  think  of  a  Welttrieb  moving  through  the  several 
strata  of  biologic  history,  an  energy  which  this  insect  or  that 
man  did  not  create  and  could  not  refrain  from  objectifying? 
We  answer,  Purpose  as  defined  by  the  reproductive  impulse  is 
present  to  us  only  in  the  individual.  There  is  no  Man,  there  is 
no  Organic  System,  except  as  we  find  their  properties  at  work  in 
an  infinite  number  of  single  bodies.^^  To  know  what  an  impulse 
is,  we  must  know  what  it  can  do;  and  the  theatre  for  every 
world-tendency  is  an  organized  body.  In  the  organism,  certainly 
of  the  truly  conscious  kind,  reproduction  is  subordinate  to  self- 
preservation,  the  species  to  the  man.  Hence,  we  conclude  that 
the  nature  of  an  organism  is  not  changed  by  emphasizing  its 
secondary  instinct ;  and  that  it  is  still  free  to  pursue  the  type  of 
purpose  embodied  in  its  particular  form. 

"Ill,  25.  "Ill,  31,  Sch.  "11.  40,  Sch.  i. 

"Ill,  32,  Sch.  "IV,  App.  20,  27. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  41 

IV 

Freedom,  we  have  seen,  is  confined  within  the  structural  limits 
prescribed  at  birth.  But  freedom  must  have  degrees,  inasmuch 
as  conscious  life  is  infinitely  diversified.  To  what  extent  is  the 
ant  free,  to  what  extent  the  horse?  How  does  the  freedom  of 
these  species  fall  short  of  that  exercised  by  man?  In  general, 
what  rule  can  we  deduce  for  determining  the  increase  of  free 
acts  ?  freedom,  we  reply,  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  mind's  capacity 
I  for  correlating  perceptions.  It  goes  without  saying  that  the 
mature  man  possesses  a  freedom  which  the  unweaned  child  does 
not  know.  Yet  the  human  mind,  even  in  its  infancy,  has  within 
it  certain  ''adequate"  as  well  as  ''inadequate"  ideas.  An  idea  is 
adequate,  when  it  reflects  an  exertion  entirely  appropriate  to  its 
body's  powers,  as,  e.g.,  when  it  seeks  for  food  or  cries  out  in 
pain.  Though  purely  reflexive,  such  acts  are  free.^^  We  may 
then  infer  that  the  elementary  reaction,  if  it  and  none  other 
emerges,  will  be  sufficient  to  classify  its  bearer  as  the  first  term 
in  the  teleological  series.  For  that  conation  it  must  have,  in 
order  to  come  under  the  term  "organic."  From  such  a  begin- 
ning the  evolution  of  life  proceeds  by  the  multiplying  and  cross- 
ing of  reactions  till  man  is  reached.  We  must  not  expect  to 
find  in  Spinoza  a  scientific  order  such  as  modern  biology  has 
conceived.  He  recognized  its  general  divisions,  and  distin- 
guished the  psychical  factor  as  the  same  in  each.'**''  The  genetic 
relations  of  the  several  groups,  their  origin  in  a  common  an- 
cestor, especially  the  phenomenon  of  arrested  development,  were 
matters  beyond  the  ken  of  his  times.  But  whatever  his  deficiency 
in  detail,  he  seized  the  cardinal  principle  of  change,  which  is  not 
deviation  in  shape  or  structural  equipment,  but  a  new  way  of 
reacting  to  a  given  stimulus.  In  brief,  he  writes  a  psychology, 
not  a  treatise  on  physiology.  He  does  not  analyze  the  complex 
forms  of  organic  evolution;  he  asks  how  such  evolution  takes 
place  in  view  of  the  end  to  be  gained.  Hence,  when  a  new  type- 
reaction  appears,  we  know  that  the  body  has  accommodated  it- 
self in  some  new  way  to  its  environment.     To  that  extent  the 

»*III,  I.  ''111,57,  Sch. 


42  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

freedom  increases,  and  by  this  means  the  series  is  to  unfold  step 
by  step  until  a  new  and  untried  factor  comes  above  the  surface 
in  the  reflective  mind  of  man.^^ 

Every  nev^  type  of  response  to  environment  carries  v^ith  it, 
we  may  believe,  a  feeling  of  increased  power.  When  the  reac- 
tion is  of  such  a  character  as  to  modify  radically  the  structural 
life  of  the  organism,  an  entirely  new  species  is  broken  in.  It  is 
then  that  gratification  attending  functional  discharge  is  most 
keenly  felt.  '*When  the  mind  contemplates  itself  and  its  own 
power  of  activity  it  experiences  pleasure;  and  the  pleasure  is 
greater  in  proportion  to  the  distinctness  by  which  it  conceives 
itself  and  its  power."^^  It  follows  that  type-reactions  in  a 
complex  structure  provoke  a  finer  kind  of  gratification  than 
those,  say,  of  the  purely  vegetative  organs. 

To  project  human  feelings  into  the  experience  of  the  lower 
forms  may  be  precarious;  yet  it  is  extremely  suggestive.  If  we 
select  two  widely  separate  impulses,  one  common  to  man  and 
Infusorian,  the  other  common  to  man  and  mammal,  e.g.,  dog, 
compare  them  in  our  own  body,  and  project  that  experience  into 
the  parallel  organisms,  we  might  get  a  basis  for  judging  the 
relative  feelings.  The  satisfaction  of  hunger  and  the  pleasure 
of  associating  images  in  mind,  both  effects  of  appetition,  are 
cases  in  point.  ^^^  The  contrast  is  even  more  glaring  when  we 
take  a  single  impulse  and  run  out  its  forms  on  the  different  levels 
of  consciousness.  Thus,  the  endeavor  to  convey  an  "idea"  to  a 
neighbor,  to  "make  ourselves  understood,"  varies  as  to  intensity 
of  gratification  with  the  order  of  mind  affected.  The  dog  barks, 
the  ape  gesticulates,  man  speaks.  For  man  there  is  a  real  plea- 
sure in  the  functioning  of  the  vocal  organs.  He  gives  it  the 
best  title  in  his  lexicon,  viz.,  freedom,  not  knowing  that  he  is 
acting  out  a  type-purpose  of  his  kind.  But  his  very  self-com- 
placence goes  to  show  how  much  more  reactive  value  attaches  to 
articulate  speech  than  to  shrug  of  shoulder  or  movement  of 
hand.*®*  These  facts  are  summed  up  by  Spinoza  in  a  general 
rule:     "The  emotion  of  a  given  individual  differs  from  that  of 

^Cf.  V.  Pref.  '**C/.  Ill,  2,  Sch. 

"111,53.  "^Ibid. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  43 

another  only  insofar  as  the  nature  of  one  differs  from  the  nature 
of  the  other."^^^  The  pitch  of  progress  and  the  degree  of  free- 
dom are  determined  by  the  number  and  complexity  of  the 
mechanisms  set  up  in  the  cortical  centres.  But  these  in  higher 
orders  of  life  are  so  delicately  framed  and  intricately  interlaced 
as  to  make  analysis  impossible.  We  can  only  take  the  typical 
reactions,  and  judge  the  rest  by  them.^^^ 

We  have  spoken  of  correlating  sense-perceptions,  co-ordina- 
ting the  elements  of  experience;  just  what  does  this  mean?  What 
is  the  principle  by  which  the  mind  gives  continuity  to  its  images? 
We  call  it  consciousness,  the  regarding  of  several  things  at  once 
and  the  discriminating  of  their  stimulating  values. ^^*  To  be 
conscious  is  not  to  add  a  new  force  to  the  assemblage  of  mech- 
anisms, guiding  them  to  their  proper  coalescence.  It  is  to  ex- 
press their  relations  by  a  new  term,  hitherto  called  purpose,  now 
called  conscious  purpose.  With  it  as  correlating  principle,  bodily 
actions  operate  together  in  a  system;  the  organism  acts  in  its 
own  right.  We  may  define  consciousness  as  the  idea  of  the 
mind,  its  distinctive  essence,  conceived  as  mode  of  thought,  and 
not  involving  physical  motion.  ^^^  It  tells  us  what  the  sensations 
mean  as  they  are  transmitted  by  organs  of  the  body.  It  assesses 
the  value  of  every  reaction  and  ultimately  of  every  stimulus. 
It  leads  us  to  reject  this  stimulus  as  repugnant  to  organic  growth 
and  accept  that  as  in  line  with  our  needs.  The  finer  the  struc- 
tural apparatus,  the  more  delicate  will  be  its  distinctions.  The 
more  varied  the  environment,  the  more  diversified  will  be  the 
sense-perceptions,  and  hence  the  more  expert  the  work  of  con- 
sciousness in  correlating  them  into  a  system.  This  integrating 
tendency  in  the  march  of  evolution  renders  the  organism  less 
and  less  dependent  on  external  stimuli,  more  and  more  compe- 
tent to  live  its  own  life.^^^  But  since  body  always  requires  the 
support  of  body,  conscious  independence  can  never  be  reached. 
The  limit  of  the  series  can  only  be  an  Ideal. ^^"^  Nevertheless, 
the  emerging  of  consciousness  on  the  level  of  human  intellect 
introduces  a  new  phase  of  correlation  and  makes  possible  a  new 

^~III,  57.  '•*!!,  29,  Sch.  ^'^11,  13,  Sch. 

'-  III,  59,  Sch.  ^"^  II,  21,  Sch.  ''"  IV,  i8,  Sch. 


44  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

degree  of  freedom.     It  remains  for  us  to  consider  what  addi- 
tional type-purposes  enter  into  the  definition  of  man. 

V 

The  first  of  these  is  the  forming  of  judgment,  the  setting  of 
the  concrete  data  of  experience  into  relations.  Every  perceptual 
act  is  in  a  certain  sense  a  judgment.  It  includes  something 
more  than  an  image  framed  "at  the  back  of  the  eye  or  in  the 
midst  of  the  brain."  Reality  is  asserted  or  denied.  Or,  to  put 
it  another  way,  perception  fixes  the  object  in  relations  of  time 
and  space.  The  mind  has  a  tendency  to  effect  such  co-ordination ; 
it  cannot  be  mind  if  deprived  of  that  principle. ^^^  Nor  can 
mind  exist  without  the  tendency  to  revive  perceptual  images 
on  the  reappearance  of  appropriate  stimulus.  We  cannot  act 
in  the  most  casual  way,  e.g.,  speak  a  word,  without  remember- 
ing that  we  have  done  so.  Bodily  modifications  guarantee  that. 
I^ow,  memory  is  a  renewal  of  previous  sensory  judgments. ^^^ 
Such  judgments,  however,  being  reflexive,  deal  with  objects  im- 
mediately before  the  mind, — objects  to  which  the  mind  inevit- 
ably reacts,  whether  approved  by  antecedent  experience  or  not. 
Intellectual  judgments  state  a  new  term,  discharge  a  new  func- 
tion, viz.,  that  of  understanding.  They  make  a  synthesis  of  the 
sensuous  manifold.  The  mind  begins  to  think,  and  that  is  its 
highest  office. ^^^  Intelligence  as  a  type-purpose  comes  into  clear 
light  when  we  relate  it  to  the  conational  efforts  of  man.  For  it 
is  characteristic  of  Spinoza's  philosophy  that  he  does  not  stop 
with  determining  logical  categories  as  such,  but  goes  on  to 
affirm  their  empirical  values.  Now  the  end  of  action  is  not 
defined  in  terms  of  impulse,  but  is  dramatically  set  down  as  an 
idea  to  be  aimed  at.  The  intellect  exercises  a  strict  vigilance 
over  the  impulse  life  of  men.  It  trains  and  directs  the  particu- 
lar appetites  and  restrains  them  from  excess;  not  by  playing 
one  impulse  off  against  another, — a  process  which  must  go  on 
indefinitely, — but  by  representing  an  ideal  purpose,  a  reflective 
choice.  Thus  the  instinct  of  imitation,  vigorous  as  we  have 
seen  in  all  organized  bodies,  may  be  checked  by  exposing  the 

^"•^II,  48,  Sch.  ''^III,  2,  Sch.  '"IV,  28,  Dem. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  45 

results  of  indiscriminately  repeating  the  habits  of  another; — 
an  antithesis  between  ends  common  to  man  and  beast  and  the 
intellectual  principle  unique  in  man.^^^  It  is  the  precise  differ- 
ence between  a  sensuous  judgment:  the  hand  strikes,' — and  the 
judgment  of  the  understanding:  the  hand  strikes  to  hurt;  the 
one  an  act  expressing  the  body's  nature,  the  other  an  act  en- 
forcing an  ideal  end.^^^ 

It  is  in  the  functioning  of  intellect  that  ethical  implications  ap- 
pear. Physical  appetites  involve  no  difference  in  quality.  They 
are  always  good.  Whatever  interferes  with  their  free  and  nor- 
mal activity  is  bad.  Since,  however,  we  may  experience  serious 
damage  by  reacting  to  every  passing  stimulus,  it  is  of  great  im- 
portance to  men  to  have  a  "type-character"  before  the  mind,  a 
definite  mould  into  which  tendencies  may  be  cast.  The  framing 
of  a  Type  is  proof-positive  of  man's  advance  beyond  the  pale  of 
purely  perceptual  judgment.  He  can  now  plan,  and  every  plan 
carries  him  away  from  the  sphere  of  automatic  reaction.^^^  The 
end  qua  end  may  be  native  to  him  and  his  unspeaking  neighbor. 
For  instance,  both  are  driven  by  self -preservative  instinct  to  build 
dwellings  and  lay  up  in  store  for  future  needs.  But  intellect 
re-arranges  surrounding  material  in  a  planful  manner,  which 
insect  and  rodent  cannot  imitate.  It  does  not  keep  man's  body 
from  reacting  differently  to  changed  environment;  it  selects 
from  stimulating  forces  those,  e.g.,  which  when  naturally  acting 
cause  death,  when  ideally  composed  inure  to  his  highest  ad- 
vantage. We  must  be  careful  not  to  think  of  this  synthetic 
principle  as  a  new  mechanical  force  moving  amongst  the  nerve- 
tracts  of  the  brain.  It  is  not  that;  it  is  rather  a  new  reading  of 
bodily  modifications  which  have  now  reached  an  unprecedented 
grade  of  executive  refinement. ^^*  But  with  such  refinement 
emerges  the  capacity  for  affirming.  This  way  is  better  than  that. 
That  is  to  say,  teleological  values  take  their  place  in  the  reflective 
•life  of  man. 

If  now  the  environment  be  not  hard,  unfriendly  matter,  which 
only  extremely  high  skill  can  conquer,  but  the  flesh  and  blood 

"^IV,    App.    30,    13-  "'IV,  Pref. 

"MV,  59,  Sch.  "MV,  App.  7. 


46  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

of  our  own  kind,  intellect  is  alert  to  create  values  of  a  different 
sort.  It  devises  an  instrument  for  communication,  language,  and 
into  it  pours  the  wealth  of  conceptual  judgment. ^^^  Man  be- 
comes to  man  his  most  useful  accessory.  He  can  understand 
thought,  and  return  in  kind.  Henceforward,  intercourse  is  not 
on  the  basis  of  impulsive  gesture,  but  of  the  progressive  inter- 
change of  ideas.  Love  or  mutual  appetition  is  no  longer  a  static 
force;  it  passes  into  friendship,  which  is  not  content  with  gleam 
of  eye  or  clasp  of  hand,  or  other  automatic  sign.  It  demands 
freedom  of  soul,  one  mind  entering  another.  Interests  now  be- 
come common;  men  can  desire  and  have  the  same  thing,  which 
however  is  not  tangible,  but  the  product  of  an  idea, — justice, 
equity  and  harmony.  And  this  is  possible  just  because  the  mind 
is  so  constituted  that  it  can  conceive  a  term  which  does  not 
answer  to  the  empirical  returns  of  sense.^^^ 

But  mind  must  not  only  correlate  perceptual  impressions;  it 
must  define  the  laws  by  which  they  can  be  brought  into  synthe- 
sis. It  must,  in  other  words,  make  an  examination  of  itself ;  or 
as  Spinoza  puts  it,  it  must  separate  emotions  from  the  thought 
of  an  external  cause  and  connect  them  with  true,  i.e.,  universally 
valid,  ideas. ^^^  ..Thus,  the  conceptualizing  tendency  has  two 
general  forms:  resemblance  and  continuity.  Several  figures 
pass  before  us  and  leave  their  impressions  on  the  mind.  By  the 
law  of  intellect  we  are  bound  to  note  the  points  of  similarity. 
Different  observers  are  affected  by  different  stimuli, — height, 
walking  on  two  feet,  explosive  sounds  called  laughter,  exchange 
of  communications  indicating  reason.  But  whatever  be  the  type- 
reaction  induced,  the  percept  gets  permanent  value  solely  from 
the  fact  that  the  mind  puts  two  or  more  instances  together  and 
says,  They  are  like.  Every  such  judgment  is  an  application  of 
the  constitutive  principle  of  mind.^^^  The  second  form  may  be 
illustrated  in  this  way.  The  child  sees  a  succession  of  figures 
for  the  first  time:  Peter  in  the  morning,  Paul  at  noon,  and 
Simon  in  the  evening.  The  next  day,  at  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
he  will  think  of  Peter,  Paul  and  Simon  in  order  as  parts  of  the 

»»C/.  De  Intel.  Emend,  pg.  ii.  "'V,  4,  Sch. 

""IV,  App.  9,  etc.  "•11,40,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE 


47 


day's  projected  experience.  Should  one,  however,  say  Simon, 
fail  to  appear,  and  James  take  his  place,  the  third  day  will  show 
a  modified  program,  with  Simon  and  James  alternately  occupy- 
ing the  third  point  in  the  series.  Perceptual  association  has  ex- 
panded into  the  principle  of  continuity,  which  the  mind  forces 
upon  the  observer.  Now  because  the  mind  can  take  two  percepts 
and  standing  apart  from  their  objects  say  within  itself :  "These 
are  alike,  these  follow  one  another,"  eventually  it  sees  itself  as 
the  judge  of  concepts,  the  subject  over  against  object;  it  gets 
the  idea  of  the  consciousness  or  identity  of  self.  Then  the  su- 
preme purpose  of  mind,  viz.,  self-realization,  comes  into  view, 
md  man's  proper  freedom  is  assured. ^^^ 
How  can  he  reach  the  goal? 


IV,  App.  4. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  QUEST  OF  CHARACTER 

We  have  thus  far  examined  the  concept  of  purpose  as  em- 
bodying the  freedom  which  we  may  claim  for  man  in  a  world 
of  mechanical  law.  Man  is  not  free  to  break  the  bonds  of  physi- 
cal force.  They  gird  him  as  closely  as  they  do  the  motions  of 
a  planet.  To  act  at  all  he  must  act  within  the  sphere  of  body, 
which  obeys  inevitably  the  rules  of  exact  determination.  Never- 
theless, he  is  not  like  a  bar  of  steel  or  flying  meteor,  subject 
only  to  the  interpretation  of  mechanism.  He  is  organic.  His 
bodily  parts  combine  into  a  unity.  He  is  so  constituted  that  his 
actions  tend  to  a  fixed  end  or  result.  In  this  respect  he  is  on 
equal  footing  with  all  ol^anized  bodies,  occupying  the  field  of 
mechanism,  but  displaying  certain  properties  which  mechanism 
does  not  explain.  Their  common  mark  is  purpose.  Purpose 
in  its  typical  form  belongs  to  every  creature  which  reacts  to 
its  environment;  more  restrictedly  to  those  which  possess  the 
element  of  consciousness,  or,  as  we  should  say,  are  equipped 
with  a  nervous  system.  Hence,  the  human  species  cannot  assert 
here  any  primordial  rights.  The  most  general  purpose,  defined 
by  Spinoza  as  the  thing's  essence,  is  its  endeavor  to  persist  in 
its  own  being.  Annexed  to  this,  and  in  the  view  of  some  of 
equal  value,  is  the  desire  for  the  perpetuation  of  the  species. 
Still  other  purposes  developing  from  the  first  distinguish  the 
steps  of  organic  order,  and  define  the  degree  of  freedom.  The 
highest  of  all  type-purposes,  vijs.,  the  powers  of  intellect,  are 
found  in  man  and  guaranty  to  him  the  greatest  range  of  freedom. 

The  acts  of  man  follow  strictly  from  the  appetites  of  body 
and  the  habits  of  mind.  They  constitute  a  class,  being  repeated 
by  a  multitude  of  individuals  of  the  same  nature.  Thus,  when 
the  agent  discharges  any  functional  energy,  e.g.,  when  he  reaches 
his  hand  in  quest  of  food,  when  he  shrinks  from  some  object 
which  threatens  to  limit  or  destroy  his  ability  to  survive,  when 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  49 

he  frames  a  concept  and  articulates  it  in  speech,  he  is  by  that  act 
obeying  the  mandate  of  his  kind.  But  obedience  to  universal 
impulse,  so  far  from  branding  him  as  a  slave,  really  forms  the 
first  element  in  his  freedom.  Freedom  consists  at  root  in  fulfill- 
ing the  purpose  of  our  nature.  It  is  beside  the  point  to  complain 
that  the  channels  of  activity  are  charted  for  us ;  that  the  lines  of 
organic  life  are  inexorably  drawn.  On  the  higher  ranges  of 
human  experience  we  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  the  man  is  not 
free  who  degrades  his  physical  desires  to  the  uses  of  an  animal 
existence.  Conversely,  it  must  appear  that  he  who  carries  out 
the  purpose  embodied  in  the  common  course  of  nature,  who  per- 
forms such  actions  as  are  of  primary  importance  in  life  and 
reflect  his  chiefest  desire,  will  eo  ipso  exercise  freedom,  though 
it  be  as  yet  only  of  a  generic  kind. 

I 

But  purpose  must  be  studied  not  alone  as  the  expression  of  a 
type.  We  must  seek  out  its  values  in  the  careers  of  individuals. 
Men  do  not  conduct  their  business,  perform  their  social  duties, 
ponder  on  the  deep  things  of  philosophy,  as  though  they  were 
satisfying  the  impulses  of  the  race.  Race  consciousness  is  the 
end,  not  the  beginning  of  reflective  thought.  We  act  in  the  first 
instance  always  as  individual  persons.  It  is  essential  to  under- 
stand what  we  mean  by  the  term. 

Theoretically  conceived,  the  individual  is  an  abstracted  part 
of  the  whole.  It  cannot  exist  as  separate  substance,  as  one  of 
the  factors  into  which  matter  is  divided.  The  drop  of  water  may 
appear  to  be  distinct  from  other  drops,  from  the  flow  of  the  river, 
the  depth  of  ocean,  or  the  unmeasured  expanse  of  the  atmos- 
phere. In  reality  it  is  extended  substance,  which  the  mind  re- 
gards as  individualized  for  its  own  critical  purposes.^  In  the 
same  way  an  organism  sustains  a  partitive  relation  to  the  whole 
of  nature.  It  exists  as  body,  but  in  a  modal,  not  real  sense.  It 
must  be  examined  in  the  same  way  that  we  examine  the  lines, 
planes  and  solids  of  geometry,  viz.,  as  segments  of  extended 

'  I,  IS,  Sch. 


I 


50  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

space.2  Since  we  cannot  comprehend  infinite  substance  by  itself, 
we  must  discover  its  meaning  through  the  relations  in  which 
individuals  stand  to  one  another  and  the  whole. 

Let  us  observe  then  that  man  is  an  individual  in  the  world  of 
extension,  and  that  as  such  he  is  subject  to  reactive  changes 
which  are  determined  first  by  the  nature  of  impinging  bodies, 
and  secondly  by  his  own  nature.^  To  fix  upon  an  individual 
purpose  we  must  meet  both  these  conditions.  This  man,  whom 
we  now  look  upon,  has  his  own  environment  and  cannot  disen- 
tangle his  body  from  the  network  of  its  influence.  Not  a  single 
sensory  current  passes  through  his  system,  of  which  he  is  the 
unconditioned  cause.^  To  be  individuated  by  the  coordinates  of 
time  and  place,  far  from  setting  him  apart,  serves  rather  to 
cement  more  firmly  his  position  in  the  common  order  of  nature. 
Thus,  as  we  shall  see,  percepts  given  by  nearby  objects  are  in- 
definitely more  vivid  than  when  the  cause  of  excitation  is  some- 
what removed.  Impressions  derived  from  contingent  bodies, 
i.e. J  bodies  dependent  for  action  on  secondary  causes,  are  fainter 
than  those  instilled  by  necessary  things.^  If  a  man  could  with- 
draw himself  from  the  toils  of  mechanism  he  might  live  his 
life  without  fear  of  decay  or  extinction.  But  this  could  only 
be  done  by  giving  him  infinite  power,  or  forcing  nature  to  sub- 
serve his  elemental  impulse  continually, — both  of  which  are 
impossible.^  So  long  as  a  man  remains  an  individual  in  a 
universe  of  individuals  he  cannot  escape  the  fate  incident  to  his 
place.  That  he  must  maintain  his  place  here,  is  deduced  by 
Spinoza  from  the  fact  that  nature  as  a  whole  cannot  be  con- 
ceived without  her  constitutive  parts.''' 

The  purpose  of  the  man,  whom  we  single  out  for  study,  will 
be  in  part  determined  by  the  milieu  in  which  he  finds  himself. 
But  stock,  stone  and  man  come  impartially  under  this  rule. 
Hence,  there  is  a  second  condition.  The  body  affected  under- 
goes just  such  changes,  and  no  others,  as  are  compatible  with 
its  nature.  Here  again,  the  rule  is  universally  valid.  Stock, 
stone  and  man  evince  structural  changes  corresponding  to  the 


III,  Pref. 

*  IV,  4. 

•IV,  4. 

II,  i6. 

MV,  9.   II. 

'IV,  2. 

I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  51 


particular  manner  in  which  the  principle  of  molecular  attraction 
operates  in  each.  Only,  a  serious  difference  now  appears.  In 
the  first  condition,  the  type  of  environing  influence  did  not  vary ; 
at  least  we  could  posit  its  substantial  sameness.  In  the  second 
condition,  we  are  forced  at  once  to  recognize  two  divergent 
forms,  one  being  acted  upon,  the  other  reacting.  The  nature 
^^of  man  is  different  from  the  nature  of  a  stone,  and  cannot  be 
^derived  from  it.^  The  difference  lies  not  in  the  kind  of  chemical 
constituents,  but  in  the  former's  tendency  to  adapt  all  influences 

I  to  the  maintenance  of  his  own  Hfe.  In  the  sphere  of  organism 
the  individual  does  not  wait,  so  to  say,  for  the  external  impact 
to  be  made ;  he  invites  it ;  he  goes  out  to  meet  it.  The  absorptive 
power  of  the  organism  makes  its  attitude  toward  inanimate  mat- 
ter entirely  unique.  But  once  again  we  meet  divergences,  not 
in  kind  but  in  degree.  How  far  can  the  organism  absorb  its 
environment?  Or,  what  sort  of  stimulus  awakens  reaction  in 
each  case?  Evidence  shows  that  a  common  impulse  may  pre- 
vail, but  different  objects  set  up  response  in  different  organisms. 
Thus,  horse  and  man  are  distinguished  equally  by  the  desire  of 

I  procreation ;  but  the  desire  partakes  always  of  the  specific  nature 
of  the  organism.^    Evidence  shows,  too,  that  within  the  species 
or  family  group  divergent  traits  appear.     Each  individual,  not- 
ably among  species  of  more  complex  form,  is  just  a  Httle  dif- 
ferent from  its  neighbor  of  the  same  order.     We  do  not  mean 
that  the  primary  appetite  has  changed.     The  horse  remains  a 
^^  horse,  and  the  dog  a  dog.^^     But  one  particular  element  in  its 
^Borganic  equipment  has  been  developed ;  for  example,  the  dog  has 
^Bbeen  trained  to   follow  the  chase;   or  he  belongs  to   a  breed 
^^^ trained  through  several  generations  to  this  particular  reaction. 
^^^We  cannot  hold  that  it  is  mere  environment  that  makes  his 
Hpscent  keen  and  hearing  acute;  the  house-dog  may  be  subject  to 
the  same  stimuli,  but  is  certainly  at  first  dull  of  response. ^^ 
There  is  an  essence  in  each,  a  habit  or  mode  of  reaction,  which 
differentiates  him  from  every  other  of  the  same  organic  species. 

I  This  is  not  the  same  as  the  principle  of  succession, — one  in  a 


*  I,  8,  Sch.  i.  ''  IV,  Pref. 

•Ill,  57,  Sch.  "V,  Pref. 


52  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

series  of  units.     Individuality  is  more  than  bodily  separateness ; 
it  is  the  nucleus  of  character. 

The  fact  we  have  just  noted  is  attested  by  the  nature  of  the 
gratification  enjoyed.  It  is  v^ellnight  impossible,  as  we  have 
shown,i2  tQ  represent  to  ourselves  the  feelings  of  inarticulate 
organisms.  We  can  only  say  that  they  differ  in  intensity  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  reticulation  of  the  nervous  system. 
Hence,  we  hesitate  to  affix  the  term  "character"  to  the  dog. 
For,  so  far  as  we  can  determine,  he  has  no  power  of  sitting  in 
judgment  on  his  own  reactions;  he  has  no  tendency  to  conipare 
their  several  values,  as  denoted  by  the  accruing  pleasure.^^  With 
man  the  case  stands  otherwise.  Differentiation  is  the  key  to  ex- 
perience. The  lofty  look  of  the  philosopher  and  the  besotted 
leer  of  the  drunkard  express  antipodal  natures,  whose  diversity 
even  the  clogged  brain  of  the  latter  cannot  fail  to  understand. 
A  character  has  developed.  On  what  basis  ?  Not  alone  by  virtue 
of  the  presence  of  varying  stimuli.  The  reason  goes  deeper. 
The  individuals  themselves  are  not  agreed  in  their  original  tend- 
encies. The  one  finds  himself  emphasizing  certain  impulses 
which  depend  on  a  foreign  source  for  support ;  the  other  seeks  to 
eliminate  perceptual  images,  and  bathe  himself  in  the  glow  of 
ideas.  Being  men,  they  occupy  a  coign  of  vantage;  they  can 
study  their  own  experience  and  detect  the  "special"  points  in 
which  they  differ  from  others.  The  pleasure  of  our  human 
species  consists  at  times  in  realizing  that  in  this  quality  or  that 
we  excel  some  less  favored  companion;  and  conversely,  we  sink 
into  depression  when  we  find  another  exulting  in  perfections 
which  are  denied  us.^*  Again,  the  process  of  characterization 
may  be  examined  from  the  standpoint  of  some  particular  emo- 
tion. Thus,  love  as  a  permanent  impulse  assumes  several  forms, 
the  affection  of  husband  and  wife,  the  care  of  children,  the  broad 
communal  interests  of  society.  Each  one  of  these  is  subject  to 
special  treatment  in  the  lives  of  different  agents.  The  types  of 
character  are  infinitely  diversified,  the  brutal  father,  the  kind 
father,  the  indulgent  father,  each  type  being  necessarily  corre- 

-  Supra,  pg.  42.  "  III,  57,  Sch.  "  III,  55,  Sch. 


I 

• 

■ 


I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  53 

lated  to  the  nature  of  the  individual  under  review. ^^  We  con- 
clude that  men  as  individuals  differ,  not  because  they  are 
identified  by  different  spacial  coordinates,  but  because  they  be- 
have in  different  ways  towards  surrounding  forces.^^ 

II 

The  way  is  now  cleared  for  inquiring  how  a  man  develops  the 
form  of  behavior  which  we  have  settled  to  call  his  character. 
We  note  that  judgments  of  mind  are  affirmed  in  the  same  manner 
as  perceptions  oTien^er—^ire^rafe^urpose f ul  acts,  definite  exer- 
tions of  power.  Every  time  we  analyze  a  concept,  try  out  a 
mathematical  formula,  criticize  the  technique  of  a  picture, — 
highly  speculative  modes  of  thought, — we  discharge  the  function 
of  mind.  An  idea  is  not  an  inanimate  symbol  devised  by  logic 
to  interpret  the  meaning  of  conduct ;  it  throbs  with  the  red  blood 
of  living  men.  It  is  an  act  of  will,  recording  a  real  change  in 
the  experience  of  the  agent. ^^  But  as  an  intellectual  term  it 
does  not  stand  alone.  It  is  the  final  member  of  a  series,  and 
cannot  be  explained  apart  from  the  preliminary  steps.  Every 
decision  depends  on  an  adequate  cause.  ^^  Hence,  Jacobi's  defi- 
nition of  a  free  agent  as  one  who  can  initiate  a  course  of  conduct 
directly  opposed  to,  or  not  included  in  the  content  of  proposed 
motives,  is  baseless.  Every  act  is  precisely  fortified  with  actuat- 
ing reasons;  for,  as  Leibnitz  pointed  out, ^^  when  we  reject  com- 
peting incentives,  we  do  not  relieve  the  mind  of  constraint,  but 
rather  introduce  a  new  force,  i^Xj  the  caprice  of  judgment. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  a  situation  where  we  cannot  decide 
— where  impulses  are  evenly  balanced,  and  reflection  coming  to 
our  aid  cannot  by  closest  computation  determine  which  side 
ought  to  prevail?  Here  we  are  volitionally  at  a  standstill,  like 
Buridan's  ass,  and  must  nullify  our  power  to  act,  that  is,  to 
exist, — unless  we  strike  off  at  a  tangent  and  act  without  suffi- 
cient cause.  The  picture,  however,  is  not  true  to  life.  There 
is  no  calculus  in  practical  conduct,  with  debit  and  credit  exactly 

"  Cf.  Ill,  56,  Sch.  ''  II,  43,  Sch. 

"II,  13  Sch.  "II,  48. 

^'Nouveaux  Essais,  Bk.  II,  Ch.  21,  Sects.  25,  39. 


54  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

even.  Action  proceeds  on  regular  lines  by  denotable  stages  to 
a  particular  end.  It  is  determined  at  first  by  purposes  of  the 
type;  it  reaches  at  length  the  level  of  reflection,  where  a  man 
marks  out  his  path,  recognizes  his  character,  increases  his  de- 
gree of  freedom,  and  presses  steadily  towards  a  goal.^^ 

It  will  appear,  then,  that  the  system  which  reflective  conscious- 
ness develops  is  defined  by  purposive  action.  Freedom  cannot 
be  a  matter  of  ideas,  conceived  as  a  body  of  categorized  facts. 
The  inadequacy  of  the  view  which  calls  a  man  free  because  he 
has  made  out  a  list  of  universal  laws,  is  well  illustrated  in 
Fischer's  conclusion  that  Spinoza  has  analyzed  the  laws  of  hu- 
man life,  but  given  no  ethical  imperative.  There  is  no  impera- 
tive when  a  man  is  invited  to  see  the  good,  but  not  apply  it. 
True  knowledge  as  such  is  of  no  value  in  checking  emotion;  it 
must  enter  the  current  of  daily  life  as  an  impulse  to  action. 
Mere  theoretical  differences  of  good  and  evil,  presented  as  ideals 
to  the  mind,  cannot  influence  the  choice  or  direction  of  an  emo- 
tion in  the  slightest  degree. ^^  Emotion  can  only  be  controlled 
by  emotion.^^  In  short,  truth  cannot  fashion  conduct  until  a 
man  strives  to  adapt  his  course  to  the  harmonious  activities  of 
nature.  To  do  this  he  need  not  be  a  scientific  observer  or  a  sage 
versed  in  the  secrets  of  the  ages.  He  who  deliberately  follows 
the  purpose  of  his  mind  will  exercise  his  individual  freedom  un- 
trammeled.  Still,  he  must  not  be  surprised  to  find  his  free  flight 
interrupted,  even  stopped  altogether  by  the  tumultuous  rush  of 
commonplace  reactions.^^  The  pleasing  fancy  that  critical  analy- 
sis of  this  or  that  appetite  will  engender  an  invincible  resolution, 
is  entirely  misleading.  For  such  resolution  is  itself  a  discharge 
of  purposeful  energy,  and  must  take  its  place  along  with  simi- 
lar organic  tendencies.  If  these  be  stimulated  in  a  definite  direc- 
tion, if,  e.g.,  the  mind  be  excited  to  hope  for  eventual  triumph 
in  a  particular  crusade  because  of  momentary  successes,  shall  the 
cool  warning  of  Experience  that  the  elements  conducive  to  the 
end  in  view  are  not  present,  serve  to  abate  one  jot  or  tittle  the 

»II,  49.  Sch.  "IV,  7. 

^IV.  14.  "IV.  15. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  55 

ardor  which  has  seized  upon  body  and  soul?^*  But  if  reason 
can  retain  its  place  amid  the  crush  of  sensory  impressions,  we 
may  take  it  to  be  a  sure  gauge  of  character.  May  we  not  in  our 
mature  practice  verify  the  crucial  formula:  "Every  emotion 
aroused  by  the  senses  can  also  be  determined  by  the  reflective 
mind?"^^  If  that  be  true,  then  it  is  likewise  true  that  to  live 
and  to  live  rightly  are  one  and  same  thing.  Virtue  is  the  exact 
fulfilment  of  purpose;  virtue  is  behavior.^^ 

But  how  are  we  to  discover  the  teleological  value  of  an  act? 
The  answer  is,  By  its  effect  on  behavior.  The  rule  is  inflexible^ 
the  same  for  all  species.  How  much  did  the  act  increase  or 
diminish  the  power  of  the  organism?  Did  it  produce  pleasure 
or  pain?  Since  man's  unique  purpose  is  intellectual,  we  ask: 
What  was  the  state  of  mind  after  this  perception  or  that  argu- 
ment? Was  his  body  of  knowledge  enlarged?  Was  analytical 
insight  quickened?  Is  he  better  able  to  shape  his  conduct  by 
the  laws  of  universal  necessity?  The  residual  feeling  denotes 
the  value  of  the  reaction.-^  Hence,  we  seek  the  state  of  mind 
known  as  Self-approval,  where  all  emotional  threads  are  woven 
into  a  consistent  whole  after  the  order  of  nature ;  where  a  man's 
character  by  its  very  coherence  defines  the  value  of  each  im- 
pending reaction.^^  Thoughts  bred  by  hatred,  envy,  pride  are 
excluded,  because  they  invariably  defeat  the  work  of  the  organiz- 
ing principle.  On  the  other  hand,  sentiments  of  veracity  and 
benevolence  stimulate  the  mind  and  mark  out  the  way  to  orderly 
conduct.  We  feel  the  steady  march  in  the  construction  of  char- 
acter, all  our  habits  conspiring  to  one  end.^^ 

Again,  if  pleasure  be  the  test  of  good,  pain  must  be  the  ground 
for  our  rejection  of  an  injurious  stimulus.  Very  careful  dis- 
crimination is  needed  at  this  point.  Certain  emotional  traits 
have  crept  into  the  company  of  moral  excellences  which  have 
no  right  there.  Thus,  humility  is  held  by  some  to  be  a  virtue, 
but  is  in  reality  the  equivalent  of  pain.  It  springs  from  a  man's 
contemplation  of  his  own  weakness,  and  is  accompanied  by  a 
loss  of  power.     For  how  shall  we  obtain  intellectual  vigor  by 


IV,  47.  ^IV,  21,  24.  ""IV,  52. 

IV,  59.  ^IV,  26.  "  IV,  73,  Sch. 


I 


56  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 


aj 


studying  what  depresses  our  mind  below  its  par?  We  need  to 
grasp  ideas  which  surpass  our  own  in  sweep  and  complexity. 
In  that  way  only  can  we  widen  our  scope  of  action.^^  We  must 
deal  with  anticipations  of  evil  in  the  same  heroic  manner.  Fear 
is  concern  in  face  of  something  which  we  cannot  fully  under- 
stand.^^ It  may  automatically  connect  itself  with  a  pleasurable 
image  which  excludes  the  existence  of  the  pain-giving  object; 
so  that  when  it  occurs  as  revived  idea  or  new  sensory  experience 
the  other  idea  is  necessarily  present.  Thus,  men  delight  to 
rehearse  the  dangers  of  the  past,  from  which  they  have  made 
good  their  escape,  pleasure  exceeding  pain  in  the  final  account.^- 
But  fear  will  continue  to  obtrude  its  depressing  touch  until  we 
have  extinguished  its  force  through  a  knowledge  of  its  cause, 
or  faced  the  actual  dangers  frankly  and  conquered  them.  It  is 
easy  to  see  how  men  differ  from  one  another  in  their  attitude 
towards  objects,  or  events  which  have  excited  their  apprehen- 
sion.^^ In  no  case  is  the  test  so  exacting  as  in  the  anticipation 
of  death.  Violent  efforts  are  made,  every  available  resource 
subsidized  to  ward  off  the  end.  Tastes  and  habits  of  a  lifetime 
are  shattered.  In  their  extremity  men  accept  food  and  medicine, 
which  their  soul  loathes.  But  the  protest  is  vain.  Man  must  die. 
How  shall  he  meet  the  final  hour?  The  wise  man  knows  the 
meaning  of  death  and  its  certainty.  His  duty  is  not  to  meditate 
on  its  inevitable  approach,  but  on  the  true  profits  of  a  free  and 
harmonious  life.^*  Pain  then  passes  into  pleasure,  and  the  equi- 
librium of  character  is  maintained. 

We  conclude  that  the  state  of  mind  succeeding  reaction  regis- 
ters both  its  intensity  and  the  power  of  the  stimulating  object. 

Ill 

The  process  which  we  have  called  characterization,  and  may 
define  as  the  working  of  type-purposes  into  an  individual  sys- 
tem, pursues  its  end  by  the  adoption  of  means.  The  agent  and 
the  environment  conspire  to  determine  what  the  means  shall  be. 
These  two  are  so  commingled  in  the  drive  of  action  as  to  be 

*»IV,  50,  Dem.  ="111,  47,  Sch. 

"Ill,  Def.  Emot.  xiii.       * IV,  69,  Sch.  "IV,  63,  (f?- 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  57 

virtually  inseparable,  except  by  way  of  analysis.  The  rule  is 
simple;  nothing  which  is  different  in  its  properties  can  in  any 
way  affect  us  for  good  or  harm ;  and  conversely,  whatever  agrees 
with  our  nature  is  useful  to  us,  that  is,  sets  up  reaction  in  our 
organism.^^  For  example,  inorganic  matter  cannot  nourish  the 
human  body,  since  it  has  no  element  that  corresponds  with  the 
organizing  principle  of  the  digestive  system.  But  organized  sub- 
stances are  of  great  value  to  us,. — animals  included,  the  fact  that 
they  are  lower  than  we  in  the  scale  of  consciousness  justifying 
us  in  using  them  to  suit  our  needs.^®  So  manifold  are  the 
appetites  of  the  body,  and  so  diverse  their  modes  of  satisfaction, 
that  we  must  recruit  its  vigor  and  equip  the  mind  for  its  work 
by  tapping  every  source  within  reach.  ''It  is  the  part  of  a  wise 
man  to  refresh  himself  with  agreeable  food  and  drink,  as  well 
as  with  perfumes,  the  beauty  of  plants,  dress,  music,  the  exercise 
of  sports,  theatrical  spectacles, — in  short  anything  that  he  can 
use  without  damage  to  another."  Every  such  stimulus  har- 
moniously assimilated  lifts  the  type  of  character,  and  distin- 
guishes its  owner  from  every  other  unit  in  the  social  organism. 
»f  course,  opinion  is  not  unanimous  as  to  what  constitutes  a 
•ue  stimulus.  Superstition  often  accounts  that  to  be  good  which 
[ministers  pain,  and  rules  out  merriment  and  laughter  as  sub- 
irsive  of  orderly  conduct.  But  why  should  we  not  drive  away 
lelancholy  as  well  as  hunger?  Only  an  envious  neighbor  or 
lalevolent  divinity  could  take  pleasure  in  our  discomfort  or 
;ckon  tears  and  sobs  and  inward  dread  as  essential  parts  of  an 
thical  calculus. ^"^ 
In  the  main,  however,  men  are  agreed  as  to  the  basis  of 
•atification,  and  by  reason  of  that  agreement  enter  paradoxi- 
blly  the  disharmonies  of  social  life.  Desire  must  be  judged  not 
only  by  its  typical  form,  but  by  its  ability  to  reach  the  goal  in 
individual  cases.  Thus,  if  two  men  covet  the  same  thing,  they 
are  at  one  in  the  primary  impulse.  But  the  issue  of  action  is 
different.  Peter  has  the  image  of  the  desired  object  as  in  his 
possession,  Paul  conceives  it  as  lost.  Pleasure  and  pain,  mental 
states  subsequent  to  reaction,  determine  the  value  of  experience. 

^iv,  29, 31.  ''in,  37,  Sch.  i.  'nv,  45,  Sch. 


58  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

Hence,  pain  and  pleasure  attest  the  particular  grade  of  character- 
ization realized  at  the  moment.^^  So  much  for  an  individual 
object.  Suppose  now  we  are  called  upon  to  reckon  the  worth  of 
a  symbol,  like  money,  the  means  of  civilized  intercourse.  Three 
general  reactions  are  possible.  First,  money  may  be  regarded  as 
the  sine  qua  non  of  personal  gratification, — in  the  vulgar  mind, 
the  source  of  success,  luxury  in  dress  and  food,  splendor  of 
position,  power  over  one's  fellowmen.  These  things  they  de- 
sire; hence,  men  react  to  the  money-stimulus.  Again,  money  as 
a  material  object  may  engross  the  attention.  Not  a  piece  of  it 
is  relinquished  even  for  bodily  wants  without  a  shoot  of  pain. 
The  acquisitive  instinct  has  almost  annulled  the  lust  of  life. 
Lastly,  the  sage  knowing  the  true  uses  of  wealth  remains  con- 
tent with  a  little,  and  escapes  the  contentions  of  the  multitude  in 
an  unbroken  peace  of  mind.^^  The  first  character  may  pass  into 
the  second,  the  second  rarely  into  the  first;  but  almost  never 
either  of  them  into  the  renunciation  of  the  third. 

It  is  universally  agreed  that  from  the  standpoint  of  his  unique 
purpose  nothing  is  so  useful  to  man  as  man.  The  psychological 
grounds  we  have  already  considered.  Let  us  now  observe  in 
what  way  utility  may  be  secured.  It  cannot  come  from  passive 
acceptance  of  sensuous  impressions.  They  are  "uncharacter- 
ized"  emotions,  common  to  man  and  beast.  If  we  are  looking 
only  for  what  will  gratify  the  five  senses  of  body  we  cannot 
find  a  single  object  altogether  useful  to  all  men.  Whenever  we 
affirm  our  natural  right  to  life  and  the  means  for  its  mainte- 
nance, we  immediately  tread  upon  another's  territory.  Inter- 
ests conflict;  dissensions,  war  and  death  follow.  The  primary 
purpose  is  thwarted.*^  There  is,  however,  a  good  common  to 
all  men.  It  has  no  mechanical  equivalent;  it  is  not  individuated 
by  time  and  place.  It  is  man's  nature  construed  from  the  angle 
of  his  unique  purpose.  It  is  the  "other  aspect"  of  his  behavior. 
Man  alone  possesses  this  good,  inasmuch  as  man  alone  can 
correlate  his  conduct  with  the  universal  activity  of  nature.  And 
man  is  bound  to  introduce  it  into  the  life  of  his  neighbor;  his 
own  security  depends  upon  mutual  enjoyment.     Precisely  what 

"IV,  zr,  34,  Sch.  -IV,  App.  28,  29.  ^•IV,  37,  Sch.  ii. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  59 

is  this  good,  which  may  become  the  property  of  all  without  en- 
gendering intrigue  or  competition  ?  It  is  difficult  to  define  it  in 
any  terms  short  of  a  general  formula,  as,  for  example,  ''knowl- 
edge of  God."^^    Nevertheless,  from  time  immemorial  men  have 

mght  to  realize  it  in  the  organic  constitution  of  the   State. 

'hatever  guarantees   harmony   in  the   social   structure   is   un- 
(eniably  good.    Love  of  justice,  respect  for  law,  due  regard  for 

le  interests  of  all  citizens  are  basic  principles  both  of  civil  gov- 
iment  and  individual  liberty.     Indeed,  it  may  be  taken  as  an 

:iom  that  freedom  gained  within  the  bounds  of  society  is  far 

iperior  to  that  presupposed  in  the  life  of  solitude.    Why?    Be- 

luse  character  requires  discipline,  such  as  the  heedless  youth 
chafes  under,  and  indignantly  throws  off  by  quitting  his  father's 
house,  only  to  learn  in  the  hardships  of  war  and  the  penalties  of 
camp  how  through  tribulation  we  must  enter  into  tranquillity 
of  mind.^^ 

The  tentative  realization  of  the  good  has  given  opportunity 
for  the  diversification  of  character.  Character  does  not  settle 
down  to  the  dead  level  of  monotony.  Being  still  in  the  field  of 
physical  effort,  it  cannot  escape  the  peculiarities  of  reaction  in- 
cident to  the  constant  changes  of  life.  Hence,  differences  in 
character  will  depend  on  a  man's  success  in  systematizing  his 
crowding  sense-perceptions  after  the  pattern  of  nature's  har- 
mony.^^  He  will  at  the  same  time  make  sure  of  his  own  degree 
of  freedom.  Freedom  increases  with  the  steady  growth  of 
character,  that  is  to  say,  with  every  successful  affirmation  of  his 
unique  purpose.  He  has  abandoned  the  uncritical  notion  that 
we  are  abridged  in  function  because  we  cannot  be  as  tall  as  trees, 
as  aggressive  as  a  lion,  or  as  distinguished  in  some  particular 
trait  as  our  neighbor.^^  To  be  free,  we  must  steadily  move 
within  the  limits  of  our  purpose,  becoming  every  moment  more 
sure  of  our  course,  and  hence  more  independent  in  its  construc- 
tion. Therefore,  whenever  a  purpose  conceived  by  the  imagina- 
tion is  found  false  and  inadequate  in  the  light  of  universal 
experience  we  shall  prove  our  liberty  by  expelling  it.    And  when- 

"  IV,  36.  Dem.  « IV,  37. 

"  IV,  40,  73,  App.  14.  "  III,  55,  Sch. 


6o  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

ever  an  event  contradicts  the  postulates  of  our  private  fancy  we 
shall  stay  our  mind  on  the  sure  working-out  of  that  fundamental 
order  which  we  as  parts  thereof  implicitly  follow."*^  To  make 
sure  of  advancing  steadily  the  degree  of  ethical  freedom,  we 
should  adopt  certain  general  rules,  and  committing  them  to 
memory  apply  them  with  confidence  when  sudden  passion  over- 
takes the  soul.  We  conclude  that  character  and  freedom  go 
hand  in  hand  in  the  unfolding  of  individual  purpose.*^ 

But  we  must  not  suppose  that  conduct  is  entitled  to  the  name 
character  only  when  directed  to  a  so-called  virtuous  end.  The 
fact  that  the  characterizing  process  moves  progressively  for- 
ward, no  matter  how  vaguely  conscious  we  may  be  of  its  ten- 
dency, proves  that  the  end  is  not  voluntarily  imposed  by  us,  but 
belongs  to  the  organic  system.  The  end  qua  end  is  neither  vicious 
nor  virtuous ;  it  is  an  element  in  the  teleological  series.  Ethical 
judgments  are  devised  by  social  experience,  and  are  valuable  as 
guides  to  action,  not  as  interpreters  of  our  nature.  Thus,  the 
thief  has  as  much  right  as  the  honest  man  to  claim  a  ''good" 
for  his  character, — though  we  admit  he  cannot  reach  the  un- 
rufBed  repose  of  mind  which  springs  alone  from  complete  acqui- 
escence in  natural  law."^^  His  career  is  built  within  a  consistent 
whole.  His  guiding  principle  is  that  all  things  are  his,  that  he 
need  not  respect  the  sanctity  of  possession  with  which  civil  law 
has  hedged  the  goods  of  his  neighbor.  If  he  conclude  that 
committing  crime  is  a  sure  way  to  obtain  the  better  life,  he 
would  be  recreant  to  his  obligation  as  a  being  of  unique  purpose 
did  he  not  follow  that  leading,  even  though  it  brought  him  to 
the  gallows, — that  too  representing  as  clear  a  fulfilment  of 
human  desire  as  sitting  by  his  own  table. 

Yet  we  must  remember  that  no  individual  purpose,  however 
commanding,  can  overcome  the  salient  impulses  common  to  all 
life.  We  cannot  in  our  right  mind  crush  the  will  to  live.  Hence, 
the  criminal,  sunk  never  so  low  in  vice,  always  aims  to  work  out 
the  accepted  program  without  endangering  his  organic  con- 
tinuity. He  is  obviously  a  prey  to  passion;  for  he  develops  his 
career  solely  through  the  avenues  of  sense,  and  with  a  view  to 

'=IV,   App.  32.  ""V,   10,  Sch.  -'Epis.  23. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  6i 

sensuous  ends.^^  Still,  behavior  is  not  without  a  plan.  The 
genius  of  intellect,  his  own  by  inherited  equipment,  has  taught 
him  how  to  use  the  forces  about  him  for  a  malevolent  purpose. 
He  does  not  differ  from  the  good  man  in  mental  power,  but  in 
temperament,  in  moral  atmosphere,  charged  oftentimes  with  the 
jvenom  of  a  definite  objective.  His  character  is  a  coherence  of 
)adness,  because  every  reaction  of  body  and  every  ''idea"  of 

lind  answer  to  the  same  general  tendency.     Thus,  in  the  man 

^e  are  observing,  love  and  hate,  opposite  dispositions,  could 
lot  coexist.     Hate  has  secured  the  ascendancy  according  to  the 

^ell-known  axiom  that  two  contrary  emotions  in  the  same  sub- 
ject must  undergo  change,  one  or  both,  until  they  are  at  length 

itirely  congruous.'*^  That  intuitive  vision  which  makes  us 
torget  the  world  for  love  of  truth  can  find  no  room  here.  The 
iacts  are  plain ;  why  they  are  so,  and  not  otherwise,  is  a  question 

rhich  it  is  not  competent  for  us  to  discuss.  Out  of  the  infinite 
lumber  of  moulds  at  nature's  command  we  could  never  be  sure 

^hich  one  was  to  be  used, — until  we  saw  the  product.  But  the 
facts  assure  us  that  the  systematizing  of  conduct  goes  on  apace, 
in  lower  levels,  as  well  as  on  the  summits  of  wisdom,  and  that 
5ven  in  the  conception  of  crime  freedom  has  not  disowned  her 
sovereign  claims.  A  man  is  as  free  to  do  evil  as  to  do  good.^^ 
But  what  shall  we  say  of  cases  that  seem  to  admit  of  excep- 

ion?  If  a  man  suddenly  drops  his  antipathy  towards  another, 
md  begins  to  view  him  with  affection;  if  a  timid  nature,  at 

imes  almost  craven  in  temper,  is  in  a  great  emergency  endowed 

^ith  conquering  courage;  if  a  pious  man  yields  his  devotion  for 
instant  under  the  whip  of  human  cowardice; — must  we  con- 
clude that  the  fabric  of  behavior  has  changed,  and  that  an  en- 
tirely new  set  of  reactions  has  superseded  the  old?     Again,  if 

re  find  a  manifest  vacillation  in  the  judgments  of  the  agent 

mder  observation,  his  ethical  actions  being  defined  according  to 
the  momentary  impressions  of  the  senses, — shall  we  hold  that 
the  mind  is  a  tissue  of  conflicting  ideas,  with  no  harmonizing 

>rinciple?^^    The  conclusions  already  established  point  in  another 

IV,  Z2.  '"Epis.  23. 

V,  Ax.  i.  "Ill,  51,  Sch. 


62  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM      - 

direction.  The  forces  of  body  being  integrated  by  a  funda- 
mental impulse,  the  system  of  ideas  corresponding  thereto  can- 
not fail  to  have  a  common  centre,  which  is  expressed  by  Spinoza 
in  the  words:  "The  mind  endeavors  to  conceive  only  such 
things  as  assert  its  power  of  activity. "^^  Hence,  while  in  any 
particular  character  great  divergence  of  motives  may  be  found, 
still  every  act  will  have  its  place  in  the  consistent  scheme  of  be- 
havior. Our  embarrassment  results  from  the  necessarily  in- 
complete view  of  the  subjective  scheme.  If  the  intricate  proc- 
esses of  thought  were  brought  fully  to  light,  we  should  not  be 
constrained  to  charge  our  subject  with  incompatibility.  Thus, 
Judas  does  not  suddenly  change  his  shape  under  stress  of  temp- 
tation. The  enticements  expressed  in  the  query,  "What  will  ye 
give  me?"  afford  woefully  meagre  ground  of  accounting  for  an 
attitude  which  is  superficially  contrary  to  his  habitual  regard. 
Such  ulterior  motives  as  disappointment,  pique,  hope  of  personal 
preferment,  are  absent  from  the  record.  But  even  they  could 
not  explain  his  reversal  of  feeling.  We  are  forced  to  wrap  the 
traitorous  act  in  the  envelope  of  a  coherent  character,^ ^  and 
say.  If  we  had  known  all  there  was  to  Judas,  we  should  not 
have  been  surprised  at  his  course.  But  this  is  only  to  acknowl- 
edge the  operation  of  a  law  of  character  running  evenly  with 
the  law  of  mechanism.  In  the  latter,  we  affirm  a  thing  must 
happen ;  in  the  former,  we  say  it  should.  Sollen  not  muessen  is 
the  rule  of  conduct.  We  are  obliged,  not  compelled  to  perform 
a  certain  act. 

IV 

We  have  described  character  as  the  differentiating  element  in 
human  life.  Men  are  not  unlike  because  they  are  units  in  the 
social  structure.  To  exist  as  separate  bodies  cannot  of  itself 
guaranty  variety  of  form.^^  Men  are  different  by  reason  of  a 
particular  unfolding  of  the  Conatus.  The  kind  of  stimulus  and 
the  strength  of  emotional  reaction  vary,  and  with  them  the  type 

"111,54. 

"  Cf.  Joachim's  use  of  the  same  geo^^l  idea  of  coherence, — "Spinoza,"  Bk. 
II.  Appendix,  sect.  8,  etc. 
**C/.  I,  17,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE 


63 


of  character.  We  cannot  therefore  sit  down  and  deliberately 
conceive  a  character  which  we  at  once  proceed  to  reproduce  in 
conduct.  The  elements  which  enter  into  the  completed  career 
are  present  already  in  the  individual  without  our  connivance. 
They  wait  to  be  unfolded.  They  cannot  be  gathered  into  a 
characterized  system  as  by  some  kaleidoscopic  movement.  They 
come  one  by  one  to  the  surface.  Hence,  the  process  of  making 
character  is  undated.^ ^  It  does  not  at  a  certain  point  reach  its 
zenith  and  then  remain  unalterable.  It  presents  itself  in  the 
guise  of  a  dialectic^ ^  which  is  ever  moving  towards  the  Abso- 
lute, viz. J  a  finished  personality.  Every  synthetic  adjustment  is 
a  signal  for  the  setting  up  of  new  terms  in  the  dialectical  series. 
We  begin  in  each  instance  with  the  sense  of  organic  depression ; 
that  is  the  thesis;  and  we  endeavor  to  the  best  of  our  ability  to 
conceive  things  which  exclude  the  existence  of  the  enervating 
forces, — that  is  the  antithesis.^ ^  The  direction  of  the  change  is 
always  from  the  passive  to  the  active,  from  automatic  reaction 
to  a  reflective  guidance  of  behavior.^ ^  Hence,  when  the  new 
synthesis  appears,  while  it  cannot  once  for  all  reject  the  moulding 
influence  of  outside  bodies,  it  will  yet  be  a  little  more  sure  of  its 
own  autonomy,  that  is  to  say,  its  power  to  shape  behavior  ac- 
cording to  its  individual  purpose.  Freedom  obtains  a  new  in- 
crement, and  life  broadens  commensurately. 

But  progress  as  visualized  in  the  dialectic  is  not  achieved 
without  effort.  There  are  two  situations  which  meet  the  agent, 
and  in  each  of  them  his  ethical  strength  will  be  sternly  tested. 
The  first  of  these  concerns  the  fact  of  excess,  evidence  of  which 
we  found  in  certain  phases  of  organic  development.  There 
excess  crystallized  into  habit,  and  became  the  point  of  departure 
for  new  biological  types.  Here,  one  emotion,  whose  stimulus 
exceeds  in  intensity  the  body's  resisting  power,  tends  to  a  polar- 
ized state,  the  agent  being  changed  into  a  man  of  one  idea,  the 
proponent  of  mental  obsession. ^^  Such  a  condition  may  be 
salutary,  providing  the  right  phases  of  underlying  purpose  are 


«^III,  8.  "'Ill,  I,  Cor. 

"C/.  Brunschvicg.  "Spinoza"  pg.   103,  etc.     1894. 
"111,13.  ""IV,  6,  44. 


64  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

emphasized. ^^  But  it  may  easily  develop  the  most  dangerous 
proclivities,  as  when  the  sybarite  accepts  the  enticements  of 
bodily  pleasure,  giving  no  thought  to  their  ultimate  effects  nor 
reasoning  out  the  relations  of  such  sensations  to  the  finer  sensi- 
bilities of  the  mind.®^  In  this  v^ay  the  object  of  pleasure  grows 
so  absorbing  in  its  fascination  that  although  absent  he  regards 
it  as  present  to  his  eyes,  and  even  in  sleep  or  delirium  is  not 
released  from  its  thrall.^-  How  very  difficult  it  is  for  the  moral 
dialectic  to  proceed  past  this  point,  may  readily  be  surmised. 

Nevertheless,  we  cannot  allow  it  to  be  permanently  thwarted, 
in  view  of  the  serious  social  entanglements  produced  by  such  a 
character.  For  we  may  regard  with  pity  or  ridicule  the  lovelorn 
youth,  as  one  sunk  in  a  dream  from  which  eventually,  perhaps 
with  bitter  memories,  he  shall  awake.  The  miserly  or  ambitious 
man,  however,  is  of  a  different  complexion.  His  acts  affect  the 
wellbeing  of  society,  and  interfere  with  its  true  development. 
Hence,  he  must  if  possible  be  disillusioned.^^  But  how?  The 
polarized  impulse  yields  its  hold  with  great  reluctance.  For 
instance,  the  proud  man  feeds  his  emotional  gratification  with 
the  honeyed  words  of  flatterer  and  parasite,  and  persistently 
avoids  the  company  of  judicious  observers.  For  him  there  is 
a  decided  increase  of  power  in  the  under-estimation  of  his  con- 
temporaries. Yet  after  all  the  complacence  is  superficial;  it  can 
be  easily  pricked.  It  is  based  on  ignorance  of  the  vital  pur- 
poses, type-impulses  of  our  nature.  It  is  a  negation  of  the  true 
self.  To  remove  such  negation  by  the  process  of  dialectics  is 
the  business  of  an  Ethic. 

We  begin  with  the  fact  that  the  pleasure  of  pride  is  not  un- 
mixed. It  is  accompanied  by  pain,  for  no  being  like  ourselves 
can  suffer  injury  without  the  mind's  being  disagreeably  affected 
in  its  turn.^*  There  is  too  an  acknowledged  feeling  that  if  we 
carry  the  analysis  far  enough  we  must  certainly  discover  ele- 
ments of  superiority  in  other  men,  which  would  seriously  impair 

*IV,  52.  ^'IV,  44,  Sch. 

«C/.  V,  23,  Sch.  "Ill,  47. 

~  IV,  44,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  65 

our  calculated  serenity. ^^  The  thesis  is  plain,  ziz.,  organic  de- 
pression, and  is  flanked  by  its  antithetical  terms,  a  character 
guided  by  reason,  able  to  correlate  its  varying  judgments  to  the 
needs  of  a  single  purpose.  The  antithesis  may  take  the  form 
of  an  Example,  a  Pattern  of  beauty  and  grace,  into  which  the 
experiences  of  uncounted  generations  are  woven.  This,  while 
not  the  completed  personality,  is  nevertheless  for  the  moment 
an  absolute,  and  in  accordance  with  its  demands  the  next  ethical 
synthesis  may  be  framed. ^^  In  the  case  before  us  the  excess  of 
self-love  is  met  with  a  true  statement  of  what  the  self  is,  and 
how  it  should  be  valued.  When  the  dialectic  of  Pride  is  finished, 
we  shall  not  by  any  means  have  reached  the  projected  goal,  but 
we  shall  have  extinguished  the  autocratic  excess  of  mere  opin- 
ion, thereby  proving  the  process  to  be  strictly  dialectical  in  form, 
since  it  definitely  abandoned  its  starting-point.  The  first  situ- 
ation is  solved  by  the  realization  of  desire,  which  has  its  roots 
in  reason.     There  all  excess  is  excluded. ^^ 

But  the  first  situation  is  a  variation  of  the  second,  which 
records  the  play  of  contradictory  impulses,  and  waits  upon  the 
subject  for  decision.  The  ingrained  habit  and  the  stubborn  trait 
of  character  yield  only  after  the  pressure  of  individual  purpose 
has  been  strongly  felt.  Hence,  there  must  be  a  struggle  between 
what  is  and  what  in  the  nature  of  things  ought  to  be.  An  ag- 
gravated case  like  Pride  may  not  disclose  the  sharp  issues  and 
bitter  contentions  which  are  present  in  commoner  experiences; 
but  it  confirms  the  primary  axiom  of  conduct,  that  no  step  for- 
ward is  taken  without  the  annulment  or  change  of  one  group 
of  motives  by  an  act  of  choice.^^  Conscious  life  is  an  arena. 
Stimulating  forces  conflict,  and  for  a  moment  thwart  the  unity 
of  organic  action.  Thereupon,  fluctuations  of  mind  appear, 
leading  us  to  affirm  now  the  first,  again  the  second  of  two 
courses,  and  involving  us  always  in  an  uncertainty  of  mood  as 
to  which  way  the  balance  will  incline.  Thus,  if  we  conceive  a 
resemblance  between  a  person  who  has  affected  us  disagreeably 
and  one  who  has  gained  our  affection,  we  shall  regard  the  former 

•111,55,  Sch.  •'IV,  61. 

-  IV,  Pref.  "^V,  Ax.  i. 


66  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

with  mingled  feelings  of  hate  and  love ;  and  our  attitude  towards 
him  will  depend  on  which  feeling  is  uppermost  in  mind  at  the 
moment.^^  Again,  the  fluctuation  may  spring  from  the  fact 
that  my  regard  for  a  particular  object  is  met  by  another's  mani- 
fest aversion  from  the  same.  Nature  prompts  me  at  once  to 
ask  what  defect  or  antagonizing  principle  lies  hidden  in  its 
form.  If  he  shrank  from  it,  why  not  I?  Shall  I  inconsiderately 
accept  what  another  man  has  rejected?  Even  the  most  ardent 
lover  sustains  an  abatement  of  pleasure  in  face  of  a  slight  cast 
upon  his  beloved.  A  struggle,  an  indecisive  interval  impends, 
until  one  emotion  asserts  its  superior  power  and  wins  the  vic- 
tory.'^^  The  experience  is  universal,  and  is  part  of  the  warp  and 
woof  of  character.  We  cannot  be  men  if  we  decline  the  gage 
of  battle.  Problems  of  the  most  serious  import  press  for  settle- 
ment ;  they  must  be  settled,  or  the  unity  of  the  organism  is  spent. 
Just  what  do  the  problems  involve? 

We  shall  examine  the  three  groups  of  contradictory  impulses 
which  Spinoza  adduces.  First,  one  and  the  same  desire  is  broken 
up  into  two  forms,  pure  and  impure.  Let  the  desire  be  the  pri- 
mary lust  for  life,  finding  vent  in  the  career  of  an  avaricious 
man.  As  a  fundamental  purpose  it  is  unmixed  and  rational. 
But  when  the  love  of  goods,  whose  primary  significance  is  their 
use  for  the  support  of  life,  degenerates  into  a  love  of  goods  for 
their  own  sake,  it  becomes  impure.  These  two  aspects  are  forced 
at  times  into  opposition,  as  when  a  man  in  desperation  casts  his 
substance  into  the  sea  in  order  to  avoid  death.  Nature's  first 
law  triumphs  for  a  moment,  but  the  character  of  the  agent  is 
unchanged.  Inwoven  qualities  are  not  easily  disentangled.  The 
dialectic,  stayed  amid  the  tempests  of  the  seas,  begins  again  with 
redoubled  energy  as  soon  as  land  is  reached.  This  is  the  story 
of  a  type-purpose  versus  individual  character. "^^ 

The  same  contrast  is  at  hand  when  one  of  the  motives  has 
entered  the  reflective  consciousness.  To  take  an  example: 
Honor  may  be  defined  as  gratification  accompanied  by  the  idea 
of  our  action  as  approved  by  others.'^^  It  may  be  a  pure  emo- 
tion, a  creditable  desire,^ — hence  an  object  of  reasonable  quest. 

•'Ill,  17  and  Sch.  "Ill,  Def.  Emot.  xlviii. 

'"'Ill,  31  and  C.  "HI,  Def.  Emot,  xxx. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  67 

Thus  conceived  it  becomes  the  basis  for  all  friendly  relations  be- 
tween man  and  man,  being  guaranteed  by  the  terms  of  moral 
obligation.  But  it  is  extremely  easy  to  modify  the  reactive 
power  of  honor  by  a  change  in  the  stimulating  medium.  If  for 
instance  its  strength  be  rooted  in  popular  acclaim,  as  when  the 
statesman  strives  by  meretricious  means  to  gain  acceptance  of 
his  policies,  then  honor  is  an  empty  name,  which  can  only  be 
maintained  by  tickling  the  public's  fancy  through  increasingly 
sensational  devices,  until  at  length  men  tire  of  their  idol  and 
transfer  their  affections  to  another.'^^  Here  again,  the  dialectic 
of  character  involves  the  passage  from  the  impure  to  the  pure 
form  of  impulse.  Just  so  far  as  we  are  able  to  cultivate  the  at- 
tribute of  honor  without  the  interposition  of  transitory  stimuli, 
just  to  that  degree  do  we  advance  the  dialectical  process  towards 
the  final  but  unattainable  term,  an  absolutely  perfect  self. 

The  second  group  of  conflicting  emotions  includes  debased 
forms  of  the  same  impulse.  They  are  contrary  not  by  nature, 
but  by  accidental  property, — they  draw  in  different  directions.'''^ 
Thus,  avarice  and  luxury  go  back  to  the  same  source,  vis.,  self- 
love.  Their  expressions  however  are  different,  being  the  effects 
of  varying  stimuli.  The  particular  stimulus,  the  glitter  of  gold, 
working  for  years  upon  plastic  mind  has  rendered  it  almost 
exclusively  responsive  to  itself,  and  not  to  another.  Hence,  the 
avaricious  man  refuses  to  disburse  his  funds  for  purposes  of  in- 
dulgence, though  he  does  not  decline  to  "gorge  himself  with 
food  and  drink  at  another's  expense."^""*  The  dialectic  here  as 
before  sets  actual  facts  and  ideal  presentments  in  opposition. 
The  antithetical  term  considers  what  the  agent  wishes  his  char- 
acter to  be;  that  is  to  say,  what  its  natural  tendency  is.  Only, 
in  the  conflict  of  impure  desires  the  ideal  can  never  be  a  propo- 
sition which  we  should  venture  to  invite  men  generally  to  adopt. 
For  if  mankind  should  adopt  the  scheme  of  life  inculcated  by 
avarice,  the  very  foundations  upon  which  the  scheme  rests  would 
be  undermined.  The  inference  is  that  the  dialectic  cannot  stop 
with  the  framing  of  a  bad  ideal.     It  must  eventually  accept  as 

''IV,  37,  Sch.  i.,  58.  "Ill,  Def.  Emot.  xlviii. 

"  IV,  Def.  V. 


68  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

its  negating  term  the  rule  of  reason,  by  which  alone  man  can 
win  his  proper  freedom J^  Hence,  in  the  last  analysis,  we  get 
back  to  the  contrast  between  the  facts  of  sense  and  the  facts  of 
reason,  whence  the  dialectic  pursues  its  upward  march 
unceasingly. 

Still  a  third  group  of  competitive  desires  confronts  the  stu- 
dent,— the  largest  and  most  conspicuous,  the  groundwork  of 
every  dialectic.  Love  and  hate  contend  for  mastery  in  every 
conscious  life.'^'^  The  phases  of  conflict  are  infinite,  and  every 
new  juxtaposition  establishes  a  new  dialectical  series.  We  select 
for  examination  the  critical  phase  where  the  beloved  turns  the 
glance  of  indifference  on  her  lover  and  bestows  her  affection  on 
his  rival.  The  pleasurable  feeling  is  stayed;  its  power  begins  to 
recede.  Reflective  argument  as  to  the  former's  ingratitude  is  not 
needed  to  account  for  the  change.'''^  Natural  feeling  cannot 
brook  an  unresponsive  attitude.  Jealousy  and  hate  enter  the 
conscious  field,  and  the  battle  of  emotions  is  joined.  If  the  early 
love  was  deep  and  strong,  it  would  not  yield  except  under  the 
greatest  pressure;  and  if  at  any  moment  a  glint  of  favor  lights 
the  eye  of  the  beloved,  it  will  kindle  again  its  ancient  ardor,  ex- 
tinguishing the  incipient  hate."^'^  Thus,  the  warfare  of  contend- 
ing impulse  proceeds;  thus  the  dialectic  is  developed;  thus,  too, 
the  most  tragic  story  in  the  field  of  consciousness  is  told.  Every 
decision  fits  securely  into  the  scheme  of  character,  but  at  the  same 
time  opens  up  a  new  situation,  which  must  in  turn  be  resolved. 
That  is  to  say,  the  quest  upon  which  we  have  embarked  is  clearly 
without  end,  and  the  goal  we  conceive  is  forever  approached,  but 
never  embraced. 


Given  the  terms  to  the  conflict,  how  shall  its  issue  be  de- 
termined? Spinoza  adopts  two  general  tests:  First,  is  the 
cause  of  the  reaction  present  or  absent?  Secondly,  is  the  cause 
necessary  or  contingent  ?^^  The  element  of  time  is,  we  know, 
decisive  as  to  the  value  of  an  impression.    The  image  of  a  stimu- 

"C/.  IV,  72.  "IV,  41,  Sch.  '"IV,  9,  II. 

"Ill,  13,  Sch.  "Ill,  35,  Sch.;  V,  10  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  69 

lating  object  remains  present  to  the  mind  until  displaced  by  an- 
other. If  the  image  be  of  an  object  which  we  expect  to  enter 
consciousness  at  a  later  period,  it  is  bound  to  be  shadowed  by 
others  of  present  experience.  Thus,  hope  may  be  defined  as  an 
inconstant  pleasure,  springing  from  the  image  of  something 
future,  the  issue  of  which  we  do  not  as  yet  understand.  Hope 
cannot  be  as  strong  as  sight;  we  know  what  we  see.  For  while 
we  are  ready  to  believe  as  true  whatever  hope  reposes  in,  we  are 
aware  how  quickly  and  effectively  its  objects  have  been  shat- 
tered by  the  relentless  argument  of  facts.^^  If  now  the  mind's 
grasp  of  a  future  event  is  fainter,  it  follows  that  desire  for  it  is 
less  acute.  Hence,  whenever  a  conflict  of  motives  involves  a 
disparity  of  time,  other  conditions  being  equal,  the  present  cause 
will  always  lay  its  conquering  hand  upon  the  agent.  He  must 
choose  it ;  even  when  he  knows  the  good  or  evil,  the  favorable  or 
unfavorable  effects  on  his  career,  he  must  still  choose  it.  It  is 
beside  the  point  to  argue  that  reason  determines  the  merits  of  a 
cause  apart  from  its  emergence  in  time.^^  That  is  true,  and  its 
dictum  exercises  an  increasingly  large  influence  in  the  progress 
of  the  dialectic.  But  for  the  average  man  desires  are  gauged  by 
their  contact  with  environing  forces.  Hence,  reasoned  motives 
may  be  upset  or  dislodged  by  the  intensity  of  reactions  when  the 
energy  of  body  is  palpably  inferior  to  that  of  the  stimulus.  This 
is  the  general  rule,  verified  in  every  moral  contest.  We  have  no 
assurance  that  because  wisdom  warns  us  to  adopt  a  good  which 
comes  to  fruition  in  the  future,  we  can  beat  back  the  storm  of 
passion,  pressing  at  this  moment  on  our  reluctant  sensibilities.^^ 
The  other  rule  for  determining  the  issue  marks  the  distinction 
between  the  necessary  and  the  contingent.  Reaction  to  the  idea 
of  necessity  and  of  existence  is  the  same.  Whatever  we  con- 
ceive to  exist,  exists  for  us,  and  makes  its  certain  impression  on 
the  mind.  Whatever  we  conceive  as  not  existing,  or  as  not  hav- 
ing its  causal  nexus  sufficiently  clear,  so  as  to  be  regarded  as 
certain,  cannot  produce  the  reaction  of  an  existent  or  present 
object.  In  the  case  of  necessary  causes  the  strength  of  the  re- 
fill, 18,  Sch.  ii;  51,  Sch.  *•!¥,  15,  Dem. 
"IV,  62. 


TO  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

action  is  equal  to  that  of  an  object  present  to  consciousness,  plus 
the  fact  that  if  the  object  be  withdrawn  from  view  its  causal 
relations  remain  unchanged  in  the  mind.**  It  appears,  then, 
that  contradictory  emotions  can  be  reconciled  only  by  giving  the 
necessary  cause  the  right  of  way.  Thus,  if  we  cannot  decide  at 
once  whether  we  should  venerate  or  envy  the  man  of  prudence  at 
our  side,  it  is  incumbent  upon  us  to  inquire  if  we  ourselves  do 
or  can  possess  the  same  quality  of  mind.  If  not,  then  envy  is 
not  the  necessary  reaction,  inasmuch  as  man  can  only  envy  his 
equal.  Instead  of  that,  we  are  moved  to  wonder ;  we  are  obliged 
to  gaze  upon,  and  admire,  what  is  steadily  denied  to  us,  because 
of  its  very  uniqueness.  The  mind  is  transfixed  with  its  glow.*^ 
The  decision  in  this  and  other  cases  may  be  reached  after  long 
and  tedious  experience;  but  the  issue  of  the  dialectic  is  sure,  on 
the  basis  of  the  governing  rule. 

We  have  applied  the  two  rules  to  conduct  pursued  in  the  com- 
mon walks  of  life.  They  become  more  effective  in  the  light  of 
critical  suggestion.  The  real  significance  of  choice  can  be  seen 
at  this  point.  Choice  is  not  a  balancing  of  two  possible  courses 
and  the  ultimate  appropriation  of  that  one  which  commends 
itself  to  our  fancy.  Ethical  purpose  concerns  only  the  good. 
Evil  for  it  has  no  existence.  The  basic  question  is  not,  Shall 
we  do  this  or  that?  but,  Hozv  shall  we  do  this?  The  differ- 
ence between  the  two  theories  of  moral  conduct  is  the  difference 
between  the  healthy  man's  and  the  sick  man's  attitude  to  food; 
one  eats  with  evident  relish ;  the  other  eats  even  obnoxious  food, 
in  order  to  elude  the  grip  of  death.  That  is  to  say,  the  purport 
of  action  is  not  a  choice  between  good  and  evil  in  the  first  in- 
stance, but  an  affirmation  of  the  fundamental  purpose.*^  We  are 
taught  to  value  motives  not  by  the  comparative  strength  of  their 
reactions,  but  by  their  relation  to  the  general  good  of  the  system. 
For  this  reason  the  greater  of  two  goods  and  the  lesser  of  two 
evils  should  be  accepted,  because  eventually  the  lesser  evil  will 
really  prove  to  be  a  good,  while  the  lesser  good,  by  itself  a 
valuable  emotion,  is,  compared  with  its  competitor,  distinctly 
inferior  as  a  means  for  developing  the  powers  of  body  and  mind. 

"  I,  33,  Sch.  i.  -111,56,52.  "IV,  63. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  71 

These  facts  convince  us  that  the  wise  man  alone  pursues  a  satis- 
factory course,  since  he  alone  can  detect  what  actions  are  of 
primary  importance  in  life,  and  what  can  best  further  his  indi- 
vidual purposes.*^ 

Hence  at  length  we  ask,  as  we  note  the  progressive  dialectic. 
What  determines  the  issue  in  each  particular  contest?  Not 
simply  the  rules  just  deduced;  they  are  the  framework,  the  cate- 
gories, within  which  the  organizing  force  works.  Man's  unique 
purpose  moulds  his  conduct.  It  steals  forth  from  its  conceal- 
ment with  the  widening  intelligence  of  the  actor.  Reflection  now 
evokes  the  very  decisions  which  formerly  were  produced  by  the 
senses.  But  the  basis  of  choice  is  different.  Unchastened  im- 
pulse chooses  because  it  is  near;  reason,  because  the  object  is 
more  akin  to  our  character.^^  Consistency  as  the  symbol  of 
behavior  grows  more  pronounced.  Therefore,  we  may  confi- 
dently predict  the  outcome  of  each  new  moral  struggle, — not 
indeed  in  precise  terms,  for  the  causal  series  is  teleological,  not 
mechanical,  and  the  subject  may  have  a  stratum  of  thought  as 
yet  unknown  to  us, — ^but  as  belonging  to  the  characterized  sys- 
tem whose  terms  we  have  watched  unfolding  one  by  one.  Fur- 
thermore, we  may  be  certain  that  in  proportion  as  we  exalt  the 
"better  part  of  our  nature,"  which  is  man's  unique  purpose,  over 
against  the  disorganizing  impressions  of  sense,  in  that  propor- 
tion shall  we  advance  our  degree  of  freedom,  and  despite  our 
union  with  nature  recognize  our  behavior  as  our  own.^^ 

To  this  point  has  the  quest  for  a  character  brought  us.  Can 
human  freedom  go  beyond  it? 

»UV,  65,  ^,  C;  Sch.  *'IV,  App.  xxxi. 

«» IV,  59,  62.  "  ' 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  REALIZATION  OF  SELF 
I.  The  Meaning  of  Selfhood 

Man  as  we  have  hitherto  described  him  is  clearly  the  product 
of  individuation.  Even  in  the  making  of  character  he  feels 
himself  a  creature  of  circumstance,  in  the  sense  that  differences 
of  disposition  cannot  account  for  his  individual  purposes.  He 
may  remove  every  reaction  from  the  thought  of  an  external 
cause,  but  he  cannot  free  himself  from  its  environment,  or  ex- 
clude once  for  all  the  gratifications  of  sense  which  such  contact 
provokes.  In  other  words,  man  though  furnished  with  a  char- 
acter is  still  an  individual,  a  part  of  nature,  subject  to  the  un- 
ceasing activity  of  her  laws. 

But  if  man  be  an  individual  acting  in  harmony  with  her 
movements,  can  he  have  any  freedom  beyond  that  belonging  to 
the  type-purposes  of  his  kind?  We  have  found  him  exercising 
the  functions  of  organic  life,  free  to  move  within  its  boundaries. 
Can  he  now  by  specializing  his  behavior  discriminate  also  degrees 
of  freedom  among  individuals?  Is  one  man  freer  than  another, 
the  wise  and  just  than  the  slave  of  vice?  Again — passing  to 
actual  experience — can  I  determine  what  objects  shall  influence 
my  conduct?  Can  I  plan  to  forestall  a  possible  reaction  and  if 
necessary  evade  it  altogether?  Do  the  facts  of  psychology  prove 
that  I,  that  any  man  is  at  liberty  to  differentiate  the  human 
mode  of  life  from  that  of  the  lower  organisms,  adapting  method 
to  need  by  reflective  intent,  and  giving  infinitely  varied  expres- 
sion of  the  very  end  which  bird  and  insect  pursue  by  the  drive 
of  instinct?  Still  further,  can  the  possessor  of  reason  note  a 
continuous  progress  in  his  individual  character  answering  to  the 
terms  of  the  logical  dialectic,  each  conclusion  registering  a  new 
level  in  the  realization  of  man's  unique  purpose,  and  hence  a 
new  increment  of  freedom? 


These  questions  we  believe  have  been  favorably  answered.  A 
man  is  free  to  develop  the  kind  of  character  which  belongs  to 
his  particular  equipment,  as  over  against  every  other  individual 
in  the  human  series.  But  we  have  not  fully  described  our  sub- 
ject when  we  have  dealt  with  him  as  a  man  amongst  men,  one 
of  an  infinite  series.  We  must  next  deal  with  him  as  a  man 
apart  from  men.  He  is  not  only  conscious;  he  is  conscious  of 
self.  In  this  new  definition  he  reaches  his  true  reality.  Here  by 
a  process  that  eludes  our  grasp  he  enters  the  domain  of  intelli- 
gent reflection,  having  passed  beyond  the  bounds  of  organic 
appetition.  Here  he  is  at  home,  so  to  speak,  with  his  essence, 
discovers  his  affinity  with  men  of  like  mind,  and  pursues  his 
struggle  towards  the  goal  of  complete  self-realization. 

I 

Consciousness,  we  found  Spinoza  teaching,^  is  the  organizing 
principle  in  the  human  body.  It  is  not  itself  one  of  two  reals, 
of  both  of  which  psychology  must  take  account.  There  is  only 
one  substance,  severally  viewed,  now  as  extension,  again  as 
thought.  Every  percept  in  the  mind  has  its  exact  correlate  in 
physical  change.  This  point-to-point  correspondence  is  rigid 
and  invariable. 

The  structure  of  an  organism  is  intact;  it  is  a  self-sustaining 
whole.  It  has  properties  which  the  mass  of  rock  or  the  crystal 
fails  to  exhibit;  its  every  organ  reflects  the  operating  principle 
of  the  whole.  It  reveals  a  definite  tendency  to  remain  in  its 
established  state,  to  maintain  its  organic  integrity.  Still  again, 
it  has  a  potential  character;  what  an  organism  is  in  its  early 
stages,  is  at  times  a  mere  shadow  of  what  it  will  become.  But 
whatever  shapes  or  capacities  it  develops,  are  all  involved  and 
included  in  its  primitive  form,  subject  in  their  unfolding  to  the 
variety  and  degree  of  environing  stimuli.  And  finally,  organic 
fife  affirms  its  unity  by  an  empirical  test,  viz.,  by  generating  one 
or  more  beings  precisely  like  itself  and  endowed  with  the  same 
structural  individuality. 

So  much  for  the  body — can  we  say  the  same  for  the  mind? 

^  Sup.  pp.  43,  seq. 


74  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

The  treatment  of  this  question,  though  tainted  with  RationaHsm, 
forestalls  in  a  remarkable  manner  the  conclusions  of  at  least  one 
school  of  modern  experimenters.  In  Def.  iii,  Part  II,  Spinoza 
refers  to  the  mind  as  a  ''thinking  thing"  (res  cogitans),  and 
betrays  thereby  the  atmosphere  he  was  forced  to  breathe.  But 
even  Locke,  who  broke  up  sensation  into  its  residual  bits,  and 
Hume,  who  refused  to  find  any  causal  connection  between  suc- 
cessive events,  whether  in  mechanics  or  perception,  could  not  get 
rid  of  the  notion  of  a  common  background  into  whose  recesses 
the  various  psychic  phenomena  inevitably  retreated.  Spinoza 
was  much  more  logical.  If  causality  rules  in  the  world  of  mat- 
ter, it  rules  forthwith  in  the  world  of  thought.  The  sensations 
of  body  are  determined  thus  and  so  by  the  laws  of  its  structure. 
Hence,  the  images  of  mind  corresponding  thereto  are  not  dis- 
connected, and  variable  in  movement,  but  parts  of  a  steady  cur- 
rent. If  then  the  structure  of  an  organism  be  a  well-rounded 
whole,  its  functional  imprints,  even  when  as  in  the  case  of 
man  they  are  infinitely  diversified,  must  also  be  a  unit. 

At  this  point  the  author  enters  a  reservation.  We  must  be 
careful,  he  says,  not  to  identify  the  body  as  a  purposeful  system 
with  this  particular  object  which  maintains  unceasingly  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood.  Death  comes  in  other  ways  than  by 
reducing  the  body  to  a  cadaver.  The  inward  proportion  of  mo- 
tion and  rest,  that  is  to  say,  the  nice  adjustment  of  the  mechan- 
isms of  the  brain,  may  be  so  disturbed  as  to  change  completely 
the  nature  of  the  man.  Thus,  a  Spanish  poet  on  recovering  from 
a  serious  illness  was  altogether  isolated  from  his  earlier  mental 
experiences  and  "could  not  believe  the  plays  and  tragedies  he 
had  written  to  be  his  own."  But  for  the  fact  that  he  remembered 
his  mother  tongue  he  would  have  been  thrown  into  the  state  of 
intellectual  infancy.^  The  reservation  here  so  carefully  made 
really  transgresses  the  rule  of  organic  unity  which  Spinoza  him- 
self has  laid  down,  and  in  the  light  of  modern  research  is  not 
needed  to  support  his  theory.^     Multiple  personality  is  at  root 

MV.  39.  Sch. 

'C/.  McDougall,  Body  and  Mind,  pg.  346,   for  an   interpretation  of  the 
same  phenomena  from  the  standpoint  of  interactionism. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE 


7S 


not  a  complex  of  two  or  more  contending  personalities  within 
the  same  body,  but  one  self  in  its  divergent  forms,  which  could 
— were  they  all  known — be  fitted  into  as  harmonious  a  system  as 
is  the  bodily  organism  which  it  expresses.  For  the  difference 
of  mental  content  is  no  more  marked  between  these  "selves" 
than  between  the  intelligence  of  the  child  and  the  matured  reason 
of  the  man.  Indeed,  as  the  author  himself  admits,  the  naive 
observer  could  be  persuaded  that  he,  too,  had  passed  through 
childhood  only  by  comparing  the  varying  stages  of  life  about 
him.^ 

It  is  difficult  to  study  the  development  of  consciousness  in 
subhuman  species.  How  far  systematization  has  proceeded  in 
each  must  be  determined  by  the  way  in  which  behavior  reflects 
the  primordial  impulses  of  the  organism.  With  man  the  case 
stands  otherwise.  We  now  deal  with  mind,  re-inforced  by  a 
new  and  more  powerful  impulse.  Reflection,  the  new  aspect  of 
the  correlating  principle,  reveals  the  same  integrating  tendency. 
If  every  organism  by  its  self-preservative  instinct  is  able  to  pick 
and  choose  amid  the  swarm  of  stimulating  objects, — "under- 
standing their  points  of  agreement,  difference  and  contrast,"^ — 
certainly  man  with  his  critical  powers  is  fitted  to  control  his 
reactions  with  a  view  to  his  ultimate  good.^  In  other  words, 
intellect  is  the  ground  of  all  rational  life.  It  alone  can  define 
the  purpose  towards  which  human  energies  tend.'^  It  alone  can 
impress  upon  us  the  value  of  courses  which  ultimately  inure  to 
the  best  development  of  body  and  mind.^  It  is  this  impulse 
which  keeps  life  steady  amid  conflicting  currents,  which  counsels 
cordial  submission  to  situations,  whose  grip  we  cannot  break. ^ 
Finally,  it  is  reflection  which  shows  us  how  to  escape  from  the 
servitude  of  sense  into  the  broad  spaces  of  communion  with  total 
nature.  ^^  That  mind  such  as  this  can  be  other  than  an  organized 
system,  a  conscious  whole,  is  an  inadmissible  proposition. 

But  when  we  say  that  reflection  organizes  a  system  of  ideas, 
we  must  not  fall  into  the  error  which  blighted  the  Cartesian 


*IV,  39,  Sch. 

'  IV,  App.  V. 

'IV,  App.  xxxii 

•  II,  29,  Sch. 

"IV,  z6. 

"V,  25. 

•IV,  23. 

76  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

doctrine.  1^  Intellect  and  will  are  not  separate  faculties  within 
the  soul, — concentric  circles,  each  controlling  absolutely  its  ap- 
propriate radii.  Mental  experience  is  atomic  in  the  sense  that 
percepts  move  as  individual  objects  across  the  screen.  It  is  not 
atomic,  if  by  applying  that  term  we  rob  perception  of  its  genetic 
associates.  It  would  be  a  travesty  on  the  critical  work  of  intel- 
ligence if  concepts  were  framed  by  sporadic  guesses  or  a  chance 
alignment  of  sensory  images.  In  other  words,  mind  is  just  as 
far  from  being  a  congeries  of  unrelated  sensations  as  it  is  from 
being  the  seat  of  certain  compartment-tight  faculties.  Intelli- 
gence is  an  active  principle,  a  governing  force — vis  perseve- 
randi^^  that  cuts  its  way  through  the  mass  of  environing 
perceptions  and  makes  ever  more  clear  the  path  of  man's  auton- 
omy. ^^  By  virtue  of  this  aggressive  tendency,  first  of  all,  the 
mind  is  able  to  conceive  the  idea  of  its  continuity.  Sensation  is 
the  only  ground  of  recollection ;  hence,  we  could  never  remember 
the  phases  of  our  pre-existence,  supposing  there  has  been  any. 
The  Cartesian  theory  of  innate  ideas,  immediate  presentations 
of  the  mind,  is  likewise  inept;  they  need  a  guarantee,  which  the 
mind  must  furnish  for  them.  But  the  rational  impulse,  the 
tendency  of  mind  which  turns  images  of  sense  into  commanding 
concepts  and  in  the  person  of  the  wise  man  evolves  definite  rules 
of  action,  this  proves  its  power  by  its  deeds.  "We  feel  and 
know,"  exclaims  Spinoza,  "that  we  are  eternal.  .  .  .  For  the 
eyes  of  the  mind,  by  which  it  sees  and  considers,  constitute  the 
demonstration."  That  is  to  say,  the  perpetual  drive  of  intelli- 
gence in  teaching  a  man  how  to  construct  logical  methods  and 
practical  policies  which  make  for  his  progressive  development, 
carries  with  it  a  sure  argument  for  its  own  integrity.  Mind  is 
not  a  succession  of  feelings,  emerging  for  a  moment  above  the 
threshold  of  experience  and  then  disappearing;  mind  is  the  pre- 
sentation of  feelings  in  their  due  relations,  which  lower  organ- 
isms cannot  understand,  but  which  man  is  permitted  to  examine 
from  a  new  point  of  view.^*  To  this  examination  we  now 
address  ourselves. 

"IT,  49,  ,Sch.  ^^V,  7. 

"  II,  45,  Sch.  "  V,  23  Sch. 


I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  77 

II 

Intelligence  has  been  defined  as  the  impulse  which  differenti- 
ates the  human  species  from  its  neighbors.  But  man  and  brute 
are  as  organisms  complete  in  themselves.  Every  animal  has  an 
individual  career,  and  if  he  could  discuss  it  we  should  find  it 
truly  balanced.  But  the  very  fact  that  he  cannot  discuss  it, 
while  man  can,  argues  a  profound  cleavage  between  the  two  ex- 
periences, Man  becomes  conscious  of  a  self;  the  dog,  so  far  as 
we  can  judge,  does  not.  Now  if  there  be  no  specific  faculty  to 
prescribe  action, ^^  no  psychic  warp  into  which  sensory  figures 
are  woven,  how  are  we  to  conceive  the  personal  identity  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  call  the  Self?  "It  is  in  the  nature  of 
reason,"  writes  Spinoza,  "to  perceive  things  under  a  certain 
form  of  eternity."^^  The  eternal  part  of  a  perceived  objecf  is 
the  element  which  it  has  in  common  with  other  objects  of  the 
same  kind.  Thus,  it  is  essential  to  a  triangle  that  the  interior 
angles  should  be  equal  to  two  right  angles.  Take  away  that 
property  and  you  destroy  the  triangularity  of  the  figure.  Hence 
whenever  you  see  a  triangle,  you  know  the  measure  of  its  in- 
terior angles.  And  if  you  never  see  one,  you  are  aware  of  the 
eternal  validity  of  the  law.^*^  For  a  thing  is  objectively  real  not 
alone  when  it  is  fixed  by  the  coordinates  of  time  and  place,  but 
just  as  surely  when  it  is  "contained  in  God,"  that  is,  is  universal 
in  application.  The  essence  of  a  thing  is  what  is  true,  whether  it 
is  seen  or  thought. ^^ 

Let  us  apply  this  to  the  case  in  point.  Will  as  a  definite  faculty 
does  not  exist.  The  agent  does  not  rise  up  at  a  crucial  moment 
and  exclaim,  "I  will  to  be  a  man."  He  is  a  man  by  virtue  of 
the  ceaseless  operation  of  his  intelligent  impulse,  which  he  did 
not  by  private  volition  inaugurate.  Conscious  life  in  the  higher 
species  is  signalized  by  two  facts,  sense-perception  and  memory, 
which  are  not  unique  in  man  and  cannot  enter  into  definition  of 
his  self.  Common  opinion  errs  grossly  in  this  connection.  It 
identifies  personality  with  a  man's  capacity  for  bodily  reaction, 

"II,  48,  Sch.  "II,  49- 

"II,  44,  C  "V,  29,  Sch. 


TS  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

which,  it  is  assumed,  will  be  continued  in  a  future  existence. ^^ 
But  this  is  to  misconceive  the  meaning  of  the  self.  If  human 
nature  consists  solely  in  the  concatenated  sensations  of  body, 
we  may  indeed  give  man  a  ''character,"  but  we  can  never  endow 
him  with  the  authority  of  a  person,  the  right  to  call  his  actions 
his  own.  The  key  to  this  age-long  conundrum  Spinoza  seems 
to  find  in  the  notion  of  the  Universal.^^  We  must  not  stop 
with  cataloguing  sensory  images,  each  as  the  "idea"  of  its  cor- 
responding reaction  and  together  totalled  as  the  mind.  If  the 
percept  interprets  the  physical  change  and  the  object  that  pro- 
duced it,  surely  it  in  turn  may  be  subject  to  a  like  process,  the 
interpretation  being  based  upon  a  comparison  of  prior  and  suc- 
ceeding percepts.  Now  the  'Torm"  of  the  Aristotelian  philos- 
ophy was  the  sum  of  universal  elements  which  defined  the  ob- 
ject. The  Form  of  the  mind  is  the  universal  principle  which 
alone  can  define  or  correlate  every  percept  and  concept  that  pass 
never  so  swiftly  through  it,  even  when  the  mind  is  sunk  into 
sleep.  In  other  words.  Selfhood  is  the  Universal  at  stake,  not 
as  one  of  the  logical  categories,  for  none  of  them  fits;  but  as 
persistent  fact  of  consciousness.  That  a  man  can  compare  his 
acts  before  and  after  a  given  moment  and  find  in  them  similar 
elements,  proclaims  his  conduct  as  raised  above  the  automatic 
experience  of  the  dog,  which  is  dependent  on  a  series  of  sensory 
images  for  his  every  attainment.  That  he  can  do  so  with  unfail- 
ing regularity,  growing  at  every  stroke  more  settled  in  his  indi- 
vidual independence,  proves  that  the  new  "universal"  is  not  a 
makeshift  function,  arbitrarily  conceived  and  flourishing  for  a 
moment,  but  a  permanent  property  of  mind,  as  surely  man's  as 
is  his  impulse  to  preserve  his  being.^^ 

The  "eternity  of  body"  which  Spinoza  delights  to  recite,  be- 
comes now  a  usable  notion.^^  It  is  not  a  theoretical  concept,  like 
those  which  the  Scholastics  constructed  with  infinite  care  and 
relish,  in  this  case  conspiring  to  bring  against  our  author  the 

>»¥,  34,:Sch. 

"C/.  Hobhouse,  Mind  in  Evolution,  pg.  321,  for  a  similar  view. 
"For  this  argument,  cf,  II,  13,  15,  22,  48,  Sch.,  and  49,  C.  and  Dem. 
*»  Cf.  V,  22,  29  and  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  79 

charge  of  being  a  Realist.  It  is  a  distinct  and  practical  factor 
in  psychology.  If  intellect  were  unable  to  conceive  the  functions 
of  body  in  their  general  relations  it  would  never  be  fit  to  reach 
any  conclusions  as  to  the  nature  and  laws  of  natural  forces.  All 
knowledge  is  communicated  by  the  avenues  of  sense.^^  If  that 
knowledge  be  nothing  but  an  array  of  perceptual  images,  the 
human  observer  would  be  as  helpless  as  his  brute  companion  to 
tell  what  these  things  meant.  For  we  read  that  the  sensory  im- 
pression does  not  offer  complete  information  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  stimulating  object,-^  and  again,  that  each  individual  percept 
fails  to  reveal  the  powers  of  the  sense  excited,  certainly  not  the 
compass  of  the  body's  powers.^^  The  act  of  intellect  which  or- 
ganizes percepts  into  a  conceptual  system  is  the  first  attempt  in 
organic  history  to  arrive  at  the  meaning  of  sensation.  Such  a 
process  must  begin  with  the  sensory  organs  and  end  with  them, 
all  our  observations  being  colored  by  the  media  of  transmission.^® 
Hence,  it  is  entirely  proper  to  hold  that  the  privilege  of  making 
and  applying  the  categories  of  thought  to  experience  in  the  world 
of  mechanism  belongs  to  the  human  mind,  because  it  alone  has 
learned  to  read  the  universal  properties  of  sensation.^'''  Hence, 
too,  the  Self  which  emerges  from  the  flow  of  correlated  ideas 
deals  expressly  with  the  eternal  qualities  whose  visible  embodi- 
ment is  found  in  a  given  individual. 

Let  us  not  suppose,  however,  that  Selfhood  is  a  barren  ab- 
straction, like  the  justice  of  Nominalism,  or  the  pale,  ungrasped 
Noumenon  of  a  later  philosophy.  The  self,  being  inextricably 
bound  up  with  life,  the  nidus  of  active  forces,  must  faithfully 
register  the  movements  of  the  body.  Thus,  the  child  begins  his 
career  by  an  unreasoned  obedience  to  primary  instincts,  the  satis- 
faction of  which  depends  almost  exclusively  on  external  causes. 
He  is  scarcely  conscious  of  himself  or  his  surroundings.  But  in 
normal  instances  growth  is  steady  and  progressive.  Mind  un- 
folds along  with  the  capacity  of  sense.  Education  sets  it  as  the 
supreme  end  to  "educe,"  to  draw  out  the  powers  latent  in  the 
child's  nature,^ — to  train  eye  and  ear  and  touch,   relate  their 

"  II,  26.  "  II,  27.  "  V,  29,  Dem. 

**II,  25.  ""II,  17.  Sch. 


8o  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

percepts  to  a  common  scheme  of  knowledge,  and  at  length  make 
the  grown  man  an  independent  self.^^  Because  in  this  or  that 
body,  at  an  early  age,  an  intelligent  whole  is  clearly  defined, 
Spinoza  has  no  trouble  in  ascribing  to  each  body  an  "eternal" 
nature.2^  He  must  mean  by  that  just  one  thing:  that  amid  the 
crush  and  entanglement  of  sense-perceptions  the  self  which 
catches  up  the  common  element  in  each  percept  sees  also  the 
meaning  of  the  act,  finds  this  fitting  harmoniously  into  a  scheme 
of  conduct,  and  relates  all  acts  at  length  to  a  definite  end.  Thus 
intellect  makes  good  its  superiority  to  imagination  and  memory, 
both  of  which  have  a  place  in  all  organic  experience  without 
being  correlated  under  the  principle  of  a  presiding  self  .^^  And  it 
makes  good  its  superiority  by  defining  the  residual  scope  of 
sense-perception.  The  self,  in  other  words,  is  not  concerned 
ultimately  with  the  gratification  of  sense,  but  with  the  cordial 
participation  in  those  high  thoughts  which  link  man's  destiny 
with  the  destiny  of  the  world.^^  This  is  Spinoza's  doctrine  of 
personality.    Let  us  proceed  to  a  closer  examination  of  its  terms. 

HI 

The  awakening  of  selfhood  is  not  a  sudden  attainment.  Those 
who  have  arrived  at  a  mature  estimate  of  themselves  know  at 
what  great  cost  the  goal  has  been  won.  The  growth  of  self- 
distinguishing  thought  is  just  as  regular  and  just  as  slow  as  the 
growth  of  a  bodily  organ.  Certain  organic  instincts  like  the 
sex-impulse  do  not  assert  their  power  until  the  body  has  reached 
a  fixed  development;  yet  all  the  previous  life  has  been  training- 
ground  for  their  particular  function.  Likewise,  the  first  glint 
of  self -consciousness  appears  at  a  recognized  period,  the  exact 
moment  however  being  beyond  the  ken  of  the  observer.  But 
when  physical  impulse  or  mental  discrimination  emerges,  it 
marks  a  new  stage  in  the  individual's  career.  It  is,  as  Spinoza 
says,  a  new  perfection,  a  new  level  of  reality.^^  It  would  be  a 
faulty  reading  of  the  values  of  intellect,  to  study  them  only  in 
the  developed  consciousness  of  the  grown  man.    The  mind  is  an 

"V,  39,  Sch.  »V,  40,  C.  ^IV,  Pref. 

*V,  22.  '"V,  20,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  8i 

enlarging  vista,  so  to  speak.  We  must  study  it  from  its  begin- 
ning. If  we  would  ''better  understand  and  more  easily  explain 
it,"  we  should  consider  its  form  when  it  had  just  caught  the  first 
swift,  startling  glimpse  of  universal  properties, — the  mind's 
unique  privilege.  The  initial  perfection  of  selfhood  is  registered 
here.  The  meaning  of  "eternity"  is  for  the  first  time  articulately 
framed.^^  The  infant  mind  possesses  a  reality  quite  its  own. 
It  would  be  an  assumption  of  defect  in  nature  to  pity  the  child 
because  in  his  tender  years  speech  and  reason  and  logical  insight 
are  denied.  His  primitive  gains  are  the  certificate  of  a  larger 
reality  yet  to  be  unfolded.  Given  health,  and  length  of  days,  he 
will  assume  the  graduated  perfections  of  human  life, — ado- 
lescence, youth,  manly  vigor  and  the  wisdom  of  age.  Poten- 
tially, the  last  is  included  in  the  first;  hence  the  essence  of  the 
individual  never  changes,  though  the  power  of  action  develops. 
Hence,  too,  the  freedom  of  the  adult  self  is  amply  guaranteed, 
because  we  have  carried  our  knowledge  of  its  real  capacity  back 
to  its  primary  expression.^^ 

Having  taken  our  stand  at  the  fountain-head  of  a  man's 
career,  what  do  we  find  to  be  the  germinal  marks  of  the  conscious 
Self  ?  There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  fact  of  self-consciousness. 
Whatever  the  origin  of  his  experience,  a  man  is  sure  that  is  he 
himself,  an  identical  person,  who  sees  and  hears  and  understands. 
Uncritical  opinion  endows  him  with  an  untrammeled  initiative, 
so  that  his  every  act  is  held  to  be  the  output  of  free  deliberation.^^ 
The  mistake  lies  in  the  definition  of  freedom.  The  intellect  is 
free  in  precisely  the  same  way  as  any  other  organic  impulse ;  it  is 
free  to  realize  its  purpose. ^^  Hence,  we  cannot  understand  the 
scope  of  man's  freedom  until  we  ascertain  how  the  particular  im- 
pulse which  makes  him  a  man,  comes  to  its  focus. 

The  self  does  not  become  conscious  by  the  registering  of  a 
sensory  image.  True,  the  percept  corresponding  point  by  point 
with  the  changes  of  body  is  not  an  inert  something,  unresponsive 
like  a  picture  on  a  panel.  It  surges  with  life,  with  the  energy 
of  organic  growth.    It  involves  an  active  endeavor  in  the  direc- 

^V,  31,  Sch.  ^III,  2,  !Sch. 

^*V,  6,  Sch.  ^IV,  26. 


82  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

tion  of  the  object  perceived.  It  is  the  work  of  a  mind  which  is 
able  to  correlate  its  several  tendencies  by  one  commanding  prin- 
ciple, but  which  must  first  gather  up  the  data  for  the  intellectual 
principle  to  set  its  impress  upon.  This  means  that  the  mind  is 
sure  of  the  thing,  as  well  as  of  the  sensory  image,  but  only  in  the 
same  way  as  the  mind  of  the  child  is  sure  of  the  cause  of  its 
motor-reflexes,  or  the  mind  of  a  dog  of  the  object  of  its  memory- 
impressions.  The  judgment  is  purely  perceptual.^^  As  a  judg- 
ment of  sense  it  is  unqualifiedly  true,  and  no  observer  can  dispute 
it.  But  as  a  judgment  of  ultimate  fact  it  is  open  to  a  hundred 
objections,  and  can  be  justified  solely  by  applying  the  next  func- 
tion in  the  critical  operation  of  mind,  m^.,  that  of  comparison.^^ 
Hence,  getting  an  "idea"  exactly  agreeable  to  its  stimulating  ob- 
ject can  never  be  a  test  of  selfhood;  but  getting  the  habit  of 
relating  such  ''ideas"  to  a  common  principle  sets  a  man  on  the 
way  to  winning  his  intellectual  autonomy,  the  power  to  identify 
experience  as  his  own. 

"Modes  of  thinking  such  as  love  and  desire  can  have  no  ob- 
jective validity  unless  there  be  in  the  individual  an  idea  of  the 
thing  loved  or  desired."^^  By  this  Axiom  two  elements  are  re- 
quired for  the  complex  of  consciousness,  the  instinctive  nature 
of  the  agent  and  the  image  of  a  stimulating  object.  But  if  we 
stopped  there,  the  psychic  experience  of  dog  or  man  would  be 
hopelessly  monotonous.  It  would  not  be  experience,  it  would  be 
a  succession  of  reactive '  points.  But  experience  never  stops 
there;  the  aggressive  nature  of  the  organism  makes  a  halt  im- 
possible. In  a  twinkling  of  an  eye  there  will  be  two  conscious 
events.  So  far  as  we  are  at  liberty  to  guess,  for  the  dog  each 
event  will  be  related  to  its  successor  as  structural  neighbors  in 
the  nerve  tract, — hence  as  necessary  constituents  of  memory."*^ 
For  the  man  the  relation  becomes  unique.  For  example,  one 
stimulus  produces  pain,  another  pleasure.  The  dog  winces  and 
barks;  the  man  by  his  superior  impulse  notes  the  change  from 
one  level  of  feeling  to  another.  Pain  to  him  is  evil,  and  he  avoids 
its  cause.    Pleasure  is  good,  and  he  cultivates  every  occasion  that 

"  il,  43,  Sch.  "  II,  Ax.  3. 

"  Cf.  IV,  i,  Sch.  ^  II,  i8,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  83 

can  create  it.^^  Intellect  thus  carries  us  away  from  the  succession 
of  sensory  shocks  to  the  thing  which  is  common  to  all.  *'We 
know  nothing  to  be  certainly  good  save  such  things  as  really 
conduce  to  understanding."^^  That  is  to  say,  the  moment  I  can 
declare  that  two  experiences  have  in  common  the  physical  con- 
dition known  as  gratification,  that  moment  I  have  said,  in  germ 
if  not  in  term,  that  I  who  register  these  feelings  am  an  identical 
person. 

The  essence  or  self  of  man  now  rises  permanently  above  the 
surface.  He  is  no  longer  the  sport  of  unresisted  reactions.*^  He 
•can  catalogue,  he  can  categorize  them;  he  can  arrange  them  in 
an  intellectual  order. ^^  He  can  call  them  his  own,  and  by  study- 
ing their  effect  upon  his  feelings,  trace  them  to  their  cause. 
Hence,  the  freedom  of  the  awakened  child  is  a  thousand-fold 
greater  than  the  freedom  of  the  most  powerful  animal,  just  be- 
cause he  has  begun  in  never  so  rudimentary  a  way  to  ascertain 
what  is  good  for  him.  For  of  all  the  conscious  organisms  in  the 
world,  the  human  mind  alone  is  able  to  hold  before  its  grasp  in 
a  definitive  manner  the  end  to  be  sought.  The  second  element, 
then,  in  the  correlation  of  Self  is  a  comparing  of  experience  with 
a  purpose  in  view.  But  that  purpose  cannot  be  subserved  by 
conformity  to  emotional  instincts.  If  that  were  so,  man  after  all 
would  have  in  his  career  nothing  unique.  But  he  has  something 
distinctive ;  he  can  think,  frame  concepts,  assess  the  value  of  sen- 
sations. If  his  self-conscious  thought  be  not  devoted  to  the 
husbanding  of  his  intellectual  resources,  he  has  defaulted  his 
pecuHar  purpose  and  stripped  himself  of  his  rightful  heritage.^^ 
In  order  that  this  may  not  happen  we  endeavor  to  cause  the  child 
to  think  for  himself,  to  prescribe  such  teleological  formulas  as 
will  at  length  make  him  master  of  his  career.  This  is  the  busi- 
ness of  education.  When  mastery  is  attained,  whether  at  the 
start  or  in  the  mature  triumphs  of  will,  the  self  will  discover  a 
feeling  of  elation  called  self -approval,  the  knowledge  that  we 
have  seen  the  multiplicity  of  sense-perceptions  in  their  true 
light.46 

"IV,  8,  19.  "IV,  23.  "IV,  App.  5. 

*"IV,  27.  "V,  10.  ^IV,  52;  V,  39,  Sch. 


84  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

But  if  the  Self  conceives  a  definite  goal,  what  assurance  have 
we  that  when  it  is  reached  it  can  be  suitably  identified  as  the 
self's  own?  The  answer  to  this  question  will  reveal  a  third 
aspect  of  self-consciousness,  vi::.,  its  continuity.  If  we  were 
dealing  with  the  modes  of  characterization  which  we  discussed  in 
a  previous  chapter,  we  should  despair  of  ever  ascribing  to  them 
the  logical  category  of  sameness.  They  are  not  the  same;  the 
individual  changes  with  every  breath  he  draws,  and  this  very 
changefulness  limits  his  freedom  to  the  type-purjx)ses  which 
crown  his  life.  Selfhood,  however,  is  not  measured  by  the  co- 
ordinates of  space  and  time,  but  by  the  essence  belonging  to  the 
individual  organism  in  every  phase  of  its  growth.^'''  In  the 
sphere  of  intellect  the  real  element  is  the  principle  of  selfhood,, 
which  binds  all  sensory  experience  into  a  unity.  The  self  is 
forced  to  stand  over  against  the  mass  of  characterized  emotions ; 
they  are  the  tokens  of  appearance,  it  is  the  essence  of  man.  The 
distinction  is  fundamental  to  Spinoza's  psychology  and  shows 
how  deeply  he  entered  into  the  practical  life  of  the  race. 

Communications  of  sense  are  never  reliable.  They  reflect,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  momentary  attitude  of  the  percipient.  Thus, 
if  I  affirm  that  the  sun  is  two  hundred  feet  away  from  my  point 
of  vision,  I  am  giving  only  the  apparent  measure.  All  objects 
more  than  two  hundred  feet  away  seem  to  us  removed  an  equal 
distance,  and  all  in  the  same  plane.  The  distance  from  earth  to 
sun  is  not  a  subject  of  perceptual  judgment;  it  exceeds  our 
powers  and  is  to  be  determined  by  computation.  Not  the  casual 
observer,  but  the  skilled  scientist  must  reckon  up  orbit  and  paral- 
lax and  set  down  the  exact  result.^^ 

Now  it  is  this  observing  self,  the  self  that  is  carried  along 
from  one  observation  to  another  and  from  one  group  of  mathe- 
matical figures  to  another, — it  is  this  continuous  self  which  pos- 
sesses reality.  We  must  be  extremely  careful  not  to  confuse  it 
with  the  individual  at  a  particular  moment  of  his  career.  If  we 
do,  we  break  the  continuity  and  destroy  the  principle  of  union. 
Hence,  the  self  should  never  be  invested  with  such  relative  terms 
as  good  or  bad.    They  belong  to  man  as  an  individual,  not  as  a 

"V,  2Zy  Sch.  "IV,  Def.  vi,  Remark;  i,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  85 

"thinking  mode,"  universalizing  the  judgments  of  sense.  Even 
on  the  level  of  commonplace  reactions  the  terms  are  variable  in 
value.  For  example,  music  is  good  for  the  victim  of  melan- 
cholia, bad  for  the  soul  sunk  in  grief,  and  of  no  worth  whatso- 
ever to  a  man  bereft  of  hearing.  In  so  far  as  these  terms  refer 
to  the  condition  of  body  there  is  a  manifest  propriety  in  using 
them;  but  when  applied  to  the  correlated  experience  of  the  self 
they  lose  their  meaning.  For  the  self  does  not  deal  with  the 
body  as  temporarily  affected,  but  with  its  essential  powers.  Yet 
while  we  may  not  bring  the  specific  differentials  of  feeling  to 
the  contemplation  of  self,  we  may  fittingly  frame  a  type  (ex- 
emplar) of  character  composed  of  qualities  which  the  self  has 
distilled  from  its  contact  with  nature,  or  by  an  analysis  of  its 
own  thought,  and  set  it  before  our  eyes  as  the  self's  crystallized 
objective,  the  guarantor  of  ultimate  freedom.^^  To  reach  it, 
the  consciousness  of  self  must  grow  increasingly  acute ;  the  con- 
ceiving subject  must  ever  more  vigorously  discriminate  the  ob- 
jects of  its  thought  from  itself  and  hold  its  own  by  choice  and 
initiative  in  face  of  the  clamorous  demands  of  sense-perception. 
That  is  to  say,  a  struggle  must  ensue,  parallel  to  that  which  we 
have  designated  as  the  emotional  dialectic.  There  it  was  an  in- 
dividual impulse  that  provoked  the  contest;  here  intelligence, 
man's  unique  purpose,  seeks  the  steady  formulation  of  all  im- 
pulses into  a  self.^^ 

**rV,  Pref.  "C/.  V,  31,  Sch.  and  40. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  REALIZATION  OF  SELF 
2.  The  Mode  of  Development 

The  dialectic  of  self-realization  may  be  said  to  have  three 
phases,  the  first  psychological,  the  development  of  man  as  a 
separate  self;  the  second  ethical,  his  contact  with  other  selves; 
the  last  religious,  his  relations  to  the  universal  idea  of  nature. 
These  three  phases  are  not  mutually  exclusive.  Type  of  civili- 
zation, immediate  environment,  physical  capacity,  peculiar  genius 
may  strangely  mingle  and  confuse  the  several  forms  of  mental 
life;  but  whether  mingled  or  consecutive  we  shall  not  mistake  in 
marking  them  as  Spinoza's  landing-places  in  the  progressive 
attainment  of  selfhood. 

I 

The  initial  duty  of  the  conscious  self  is  to  study  the  meaning 
of  the  body's  reactions,  with  a  view  to  making  them  serve  the 
self's  best  interests.^  The  meaning  of  every  reaction,  as  we 
have  noted,  is  gauged  in  part  by  the  nature  of  the  stimulating 
object;  but  only  in  part,  inasmuch  as  no  single  image  can  carry  a 
complete  summary  of  the  parts  and  relations  of  the  object  mir- 
rored.^ We  must  effect  a  comparison  of  several  reactions  either 
to  the  same  or  related  stimuli.  The  rudimentary  act  which  awoke 
the  consciousness  of  self  is  thus  the  prototype  of  the  settled 
practice  of  reflection.  Each  sensation  must  be  carefully  examined 
for  its  general  properties.^  Why  did  this  impulse  suddenly 
function,  what  was  the  nature  of  the  stimulating  cause,  under 
what  circumstances  will  a  given  stimulus  provoke  its  response, — 
these  and  similar  questions  are  the  burden  of  study.  Just  as 
soon  as  we  embark  on  this  process  we  begin  to  gain  "adequate 
ideas,"  we  begin  to  understand.*    By  the  same  operation,  too,  we 

MV,  S3,  Dem.  »V,  4. 

MI,  25;  cf.  IV,  5.  *IV,  23. 


I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE 


enter  upon  a  new  level  of  freedom.  When  intelligence  first 
wrought  its  impressions  into  the  integument  of  a  self,  man  won 
his  right  to  a  higher  freedom  than  the  mere  functional  activity 
of  the  lower  organisms.  Now  he  is  in  position  to  determine  the 
cause  of  his  sensory  experience  and  at  his  own  option  "perform 
those  actions  which  he  knows  to  be  of  the  highest  value  in  life." 
He  has  reached  the  second  form  of  knowledge,  sharply  distin- 
guished by  Spinoza  from  the  first  form,  or  opinion,  which  ac- 
cepts the  casual  percepts  as  sufficient  witness  and  never  asks 
whether  the  concept  deduced  is  universally  true.  Opinion  may 
at  times  hit  upon  the  correct  solution  to  a  problem,  as  when  a 
tradesman  by  habit  or  early  training  puts  down  on  paper  the 
fourth  proportional  without  knowing  why  it  is  the  true  figure. 
But  the  universal  value  of  the  solution  can  only  be  reached  when, 
like  the  mathematician  acting  on  the  basic  law  of  proportion, 
we  understand  that  the  product  of  the  extremes  equals  the 
product  of  the  means.^  All  which  means  to  imply  that  the 
ignorant  man,  following  his  opinion  or  the  crystallized  habit  of 
society,  is  a  slave,  as  compared  with  the  man  who  boldly  acts 
with  a  full  knowledge  of  impending  results.* 

That  the  first  assertion  of  self-consciousness  is  not  immedi- 
ately attended  by  such  an  access  of  freedom,  is  proven  by  a 
variety  of  facts."^  We  may  cite  the  edict  of  reflection  that  all 
events  in  the  life  of  man  are  necessary.  Much  of  the  mental 
suffering  of  the  world  would  be  averted  if  we  knew  that  the 
object  lost  could  not  by  any  device  have  been  preserved.^  The 
customary  reaction  to  loss  is  pain, — severe  disappointment,  bit- 
ter complaint,  and  a  tendency  to  query  how  with  an  assumed 
benevolent  Creator  things  have  grown  '^corrupt  to  the  point  of 
putrescence,  repulsive  deformity,  confusion,  evil  and  sin."  In 
answer  to  this  it  is  not  difficult  to  show  that  the  perfection  of 
things  depends  on  their  nature  and  their  relation  to  the  totality 
of  being,  and  that  they  are  not  more  or  less  perfect  according  as 
the  individual  observer  finds  them  grateful  or  repugnant  to  his 

^  Cf.  De  Emend.  Intel,  pg.  9.  '  V,  6  and  Sch. 

•IV,  56,  Sch. 

'C/.  Spinoza's  complaint  in  IV,  35,  Sch. 


88  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

tastes.^  Pain  itself,  though  it  takes  its  meaning  from  organic 
properties  and  not  from  the  laws  of  mechanism,  must  yet  have 
its  place  in  the  necessary  operation  of  natural  forces.  It  is  not 
a  stranger,  drawn  into  the  pleasurable  movements  of  the  world ; 
it  is  here  by  right;  it  has  a  distinct  service  to  perform.  When 
so  viewed  the  offices  of  pain — disease  of  body,  disorders  of 
mind,  poverty,  injustice,  war,  hidden  and  malefic  craft^ — are  di- 
vested of  their  obnoxious  garb.  They  are  not  the  creatures  of 
man's  unaided  whim;  they  are  not  contingent,  nor  can  they  be 
averted;  they  are  necessary.  Their  universal  meaning  becom.es 
sun-clear  to  the  mind,  their  causes  defined,  and  their  issues  fore- 
seen. ^^  Hence,  pain  as  a  psychic  reaction  is  at  once  turned  into 
pleasure,  and  the  idea  that  God  could  be  the  Author  of  evil  is 
forever  banished.  ^^ 

A  similar  change  of  attitude  takes  place  in  our  view  of  evil 
which  has  overtaken  another  being  conceived  to  be  like  our- 
selves. The  common  reaction  is  called  Pity,  and  assumes  that 
if  circumstances  had  been  different,  joy  and  not  misery  would 
have  crowned  his  life.  On  nearer  consideration,  however,  it 
appears  that  the  impulse  of  pity  cannot  be  embodied  in  rational 
conduct.  Pity  implies  that  something  is  wrong  with  the  structure 
of  the  world;  that  certain  events  might  and  should  have  hap- 
pened otherwise.  Reflection,  on  the  other  hand,  having  gath- 
ered up  the  essential  properties  of  given  objects,  assures  us 
peremptorily  that  all  events  transpire  according  to  a  fixed  law  of 
succession.  There  is  nothing  accidental;  what  appears  so  is  the 
deduction  of  an  unfurnished  mind.  Pity,  therefore,  has  no 
point  at  which  it  may  crystallize.^^  Nor  is  this  all.  The  effect 
of  such  reaction  upon  the  mind  is  distinctly  bad.  It  not  only 
forces  upon  us  a  feeling  of  depression  because  we  conceive  the 
object  of  pity  as  in  a  state  of  anguish, ^^  but  it  leads  us  to  actions 
which  afterwards  we  have  grave  cause  to  regret.  Every  impulse 
that  bids  us  help  another  is  emphatically  the  voice  of  reason  and 
has  official  standing  in  the  career  of  the  Self.^*  Yet  it  may  be 
misguided  either  by  the  natural  rush  of  emotion  or  by  the  fact 

•I,  App,  sub  fin.  "V,  i8,  Sch.  "Ill,  27. 

'"Cf.  I,  33  and  Sch.  i.       "IV,  50,  and  Sch.  ",1V,  37- 


^m  that  we  are  easily  deceived  by  false  tears.  The  man  who  would 
^m  conform  to  the  terms  of  genuine  sympathy  must  be  careful  to 
H  analyze  both  the  character  of  his  sentiments  and  the  external 
B  incident  which  evoked  them  at  the  particular  moment.  If  he 
fails  to  do  so,  the  pain  of  pity  will  be  re-ijiforced  by  the  pain  of 
chagrin,  and  the  development  of  the  real  Self  will  be  measurably 
hindered.  ^^ 

Again,  the  reaction  of  Fear  is  driven  by  reflection  from  its 
prominent  place  in  the  emotional  history  of  man.  Instinct  leads 
every  organism  to  seek  escape  from  danger  or  to  avoid  its  very 
appearance.  The  wise  man,  that  is  to  say,  the  agent  who  has 
balanced  his  impulse  and  action  so  as  to  realize  the  highest  val- 
ues of  selfhood,  will  not  scruple  to  decline  the  path  of  peril;  for 
it  is  perfectly  apparent  to  him  that  foolhardiness,  being  a  de- 
structive impulse,  ranks  on  an  equality  with  the  sense  of  danger 
as  respects  its  emotional  results.  Both  bear  the  seeds  of  pain.^^ 
Hence,  to  decline  danger  is  not  in  his  case  to  evince  fear.  Fear 
may  be  defined  as  a  "wavering  pain  elicited  by  the  idea  of  an 
event  past  or  future  of  whose  issue  we  stand  in  doubt."^''^  But 
uncertainty  will  not  linger  in  a  mind  which  has  grown  ac- 
customed to  correlating  all  its  reactions  under  the  rubric  of  a 
Self.  It  knows  not  by  instinct,  but  as  the  reasoned  result  of  ex- 
perience, that  fear  may  be  conquered  by  anticipating  and  ex- 
amining its  causes,  and  by  devising  certain  rules  of  conduct  to 
be  resolutely  applied  in  times  of  need.  Selfhood  for  the  moment 
is  synonymous  with  courage. ^^ 

The  thought  of  death  institutes  the  most  violent  reaction  of 
fear  in  the  uninstructed  mind.  We  have  remarked ^^  that  the 
sick  man  who  has  never  studied  the  meaning  of  physical  dis- 
solution undergoes  cheerfully  the  most  distasteful  treatment  for 
the  sake  of  avoiding  its  issues.-*^  He  is  a  slave  to  the  life  of 
sense.  On  the  other  hand  the  free  man,  understanding  how  such 
dissolution  takes  place  and  why,  is  not  concerned  with  the  fact 
itself,  but  with  the  kind  of  a  Self  that  shall  have  been  realized 

»IV,  50,  Sch.  "IV,  47,  Sch.;  V,  10,  Sch. 

*»IV,  69.  "Page  56. 

"Ill,  Def,  Emots.  xiii.  **  IV,  63,  Sch. 


90  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

when  Death  at  length  comes.  ^^  For  death  as  a  biological  fact 
is  hurtful  only  when  we  have  failed  to  seize  every  opportunity 
for  developing  the  powers  inherent  in  mind.  Common  opinion 
regards  the  death  of  a  child  as  the  cause  of  much  unhappiness, 
and  hails  every  man  as  the  beneficiary  of  fortune  if  long  life 
cum  Sana  mente  in  corpore  sano  be  granted  him.  But  length  of 
days  is  not  the  true  test  of  the  self's  efficiency.  If  infancy  ex- 
cludes the  principle  of  correlation  as  a  mental  attainment,  old  age 
often  reveals  its  decisive  impairment.  Moreover,  one  man  whose 
life  is  measured  by  a  short  span  may  have  reached  a  far  richer 
acquaintance  with  the  meaning  of  his  emotional  contacts  than 
another  who  at  the  turn  of  fourscore  years  is  still  the  servant  of 
organic  appetite. ^^  To  define  clearly  the  purpose  of  our  career, 
and  to  determine  how  every  sensory  impression  and  the  con- 
ceptual judgment  that  results  can  ultimately  subserve  that  end, — 
this  alone  will  abolish  the  reaction  of  fear  in  face  of  death. 

We  thus  reach  the  verdict  that  in  the  broader  sphere  of  self- 
realization  as  well  as  in  the  primary  act  of  self-consciousness  it 
is  necessary  to  have  a  definite  idea  of  the  end-in-view.  Under 
what  terms  does  Spinoza  conceive  it?  The  endeavor  of  every 
organism  is  the  maintenance  of  its  integrity.  So  long  as  the 
endeavor  deals  with  the  processes  of  body  it  is  entirely  instincr^ 
tive.  The  end  is  recognized  after  the  functions  of  the  bodily 
organs  have  been  discharged.  A  new  aspect  of  the  end-in-view 
appears  w^hen  the  correlating  principle  of  mind  begins  the  forma- 
tion of  a  Self.  The  Self  looks  to  an  end,  in  the  course  of  time 
constructs  for  it  a  precise  background,  and  eventually  makes  a 
consistent  effort  to  realize  it.  The  difference  between  end-in- 
view  for  man  and  end  for  animal  is  abysmal.  It  celebrates  the 
sweep  of  freedom  which  has  come  to  conscious  life.  Man  is  not 
only  free  to  follow  his  organic  purpose;  he  is  free  to  frame  a 
line  of  conduct  that  shall  bring  his  intellectual  powers  to  their 
highest  development.^^ 

The  complete  end  of  self,  we  submit,  can  never  be  fulfilled ;  it 
is  a  limiting  concept.    Yet  we  should  carefully  state  it,  so  as  ta 

"IV,  67.  ''Cf.  IV,  26;  V,  25. 

"V,  38  and  Sch.;  39,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  91 

have  a  standard  of  comparison.  Scientific  pedagogy  recognizes 
a  concrete  terminus  ad  quem,  vis.,  the  training  of  the  child's 
nature  so  that  his  sensory  experience  shall  be  as  wide  and  com- 
plex as  possible,  and  his  mental  grasp  all-inclusive.^*  Such  an 
ideal  stands  as  the  goal  of  every  career.  It  reduces  to  a  minimum 
the  undisputed  play  of  percept  and  image-association,  and  exalts 
the  authority  of  intellect  over  both  through  the  detection  of 
governing  laws.  If  the  agent  could  rise  to  a  perfect  understand- 
ing of  himself  and  the  world  he  would  lay  hold  upon  the  third 
and  most  effective  type  of  knowledge.  Intuition,  the  ability  to 
see  a  thing  auf  einem  Blicke,  as  Fichte  says.^^  Yet  even  though 
we  cannot  reach  the  goal  we  are  involved  in  an  increasingly 
energetic  struggle  in  its  direction.  Every  new  reaction  is  an 
opportunity  for  testing  the  value  of  the  ideal,  and  at  the  same 
time  each  successive  interpretation  of  the  single  reaction  makes 
the  ideal  clearer  to  the  eye.^^ 

But  the  self-purpose  does  not  remain  submerged  in  the  neces- 
sarily shadowy  terms  of  a  limiting  concept.  It  is  not  merely  a 
hope;  it  is  a  present  power.^"^  Self-consciousness  grows  Hke  the 
organism  it  interprets;  and  just  as  the  organic  functions  never 
have  a  chance  to  display  their  full  possibilities,  so  the  self  never 
reaches  the  pinnacle  of  its  maturity.  Nevertheless,  whatever  its 
stage  of  development,  it  is  continually  absorbing  the  common 
elements  of  its  environment,  which  alone  insure  both  the  under- 
standing and  the  attainment  of  the  Good.^^ 

Of  no  other  contact  is  this  so  inevitably  true  as  in  man's 
reaction  upon  his  fellows.  We  have  found  that  a  mind  does 
not  wait  for  the  touch  and  friction  of  other  minds  in  order  to 
become  aware  of  its  self-correlating  tendency.  The  awaking  of 
self  is  distinctly  a  private  concern.  Still  the  values  which  very 
early  in  life  we  begin  to  associate  with  the  self  are  powerfully 
brought  to  sight  through  the  appreciation  of  the  points  held  in 
common  with  other  selves.  Hence,  Spinoza  is  justified  in  his 
contention  that  a  "man  can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived  without 

«  V,  39,  Sch.  "  V,  20,  Sch.  ^  IV,  31. 

"  Wissenschaftslehre,  1801,  Teil.  I,  sect.  i. 
=^  Cf.  V,  40. 


72  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

the  power  of  taking  delight  in  the  highest  good"  of  mankind  in 
general.-^  The  simple  biological  fact  affords  sufficient  basis  for 
the  remark ;  for  man  comes  into  existence  by  the  laws  of  physical 
generation;  he  is  not  dropped  full-grown  from  the  skies.  The 
verdict  of  psychology  is  every  bit  as  clear:  Deny  man  a  com- 
panion, and  you  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  unfold  the  idea 
of  self,  which  the  first  glint  of  consciousness  has  disclosed. 

How  comprehensive  a  role  in  human  life  this  reaction  plays 
may  be  discerned  by  studying  a  familiar  reaction  to  social  stimuli. 
Pride  is  defined  as  a  man's  love  of  self,  which  puts  too  high  an 
estimate  on  his  own  powers.^^  Now  except  as  a  theoretical 
concept,  pride  can  have  no  standing  in  the  history  of  mind  apart 
from  empirical  contact  with  other  minds.  Pride  in  this  sense 
becomes  a  pleasurable  emotion  issuing  from  a  false  opinion 
which  affirms  one  man's  superiority  to  his  neighbor.^^  If  the 
way  were  open  and  we  took  the  trouble  to  find  it,  we  might  learn 
both  the  state  of  our  own  mind  and  the  approximate  capacity  of 
our  neighbor's;  a  comparison  of  which  would  give  the  exact 
degree  of  difference  and  eliminate  every  emotion  save  that  of 
gratitude  for  our  united  attainments,  however  little  they  might 
be.  Thus  the  sensory  contact,  producing  in  the  framing  of 
character  a  homogeneity  of  impressions,  that  is,  an  opinion, 
effects  now  a  reference  of  current  experiences  to  the  end-in- 
view,  the  building  of  a  Self  whose  properties  are  shared  by  every 
other  being  of  the  same  grade.  Human  behavior  is  not  restricted 
to  the  response  excited  by  inanimate  nature  or  the  motions  of  the 
subordinate  organisms.  If  it  were,  the  area  of  thought  would 
be  small,  and  the  texture  of  language  extremely  rudimentary. 
That  man  may  slowly  but  surely  ascend  in  "his  enjoyment  of  his 
rational  life"  is  due  solely  to  the  impact  of  other  reflective  minds 
upon  his  own.^^  The  Self  is  therefore  not  a  whole  sine  plexu, 
but  a  swirling  current  within  whose  bounds  a  thousand  human 
tributaries  are  incessantly  mingling.  And  the  destiny  of  the 
Self,  being  common  to  the  race,  is  illuminated  by  the  triumphs 
of  reason  and  skill,  gleaming  from  the  history  of  other  gener- 

=»  IV,  36,  Sch.  ^  IV,  57,  Sch. 

"Ill,  Def.  Emots.  xxviii.  "IV,  App.  9. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  93 

ations  and   full  of  promise   for  our  own  impending  achieve- 
ments.^^ 


Such  being  the  terminus  of  the  dialectic  of  self-realization, 
what,  we  ask,  are  the  notes  of  progress  in  the  ascending  series? 
We  observe  at  once  that  proficiency  in  recognizing  an  object  indi- 
cates the  grade  of  self-discrimination.  A  given  manifold  (to  use 
the  vernacular  of  a  later  school),  say,  a  flower,  is  framed  by  the 
triplicate  action  of  sight  and  smell  and  touch  and  is  then  anal- 
yzed into  its  specific  categorical  qualities.  This  is  what  Spinoza 
terms  the  capacity  for  "understanding  many  things  simultan- 
eously.''^* The  image  of  the  flower,  the  flower-concept,  becomes 
fixed  in  the  observer's  consciousness  by  repeated  contact  with  its 
various  embodiments,  and  in  many  a  life  plays  a  conspicuous 
part  as  the  subject  of  phrase  and  fancy. ^^  That  is  to  say,  recog- 
nition is  not  alone  recognition  of  the  objective  data ;  it  is  a  tacit, 
as  yet  inarticulate  affirmation  of  Selfhood.^^  It  enables  the  agent 
to  separate  his  emotional  inclination,  e.g.,  admiration  for  flowers, 
from  the  thought  of  an  external  cause,  e.g.,  the  particular  rose, 
and  range  it  among  the  tried  and  proven  aesthetic  judgments  of 
the  race.^*^  Such  an  emotion  grows  stronger  with  the  widening 
of  aesthetic  experience,  or  as  Spinoza  says,  "in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  simultaneous  concurrent  causes  exciting  it."^^  And 
every  access  of  strength  to  the  judgment  renders  the  agent  more 
convinced  both  of  his  authority  as  a  conceptual  thinker,  and  of 
his  selective  freedom  amid  the  mass  of  unrelated  reactions. 

Not  different  in  principle  but  exceedingly  more  intricate  in 
structure  is  the  scheme  of  conduct,  which  coordinates  spasmodic 
feelings  under  a  common  rubric.  Conduct  proceeds  upon  a 
precarious  basis  if  we  act  only  in  order  to  escape  an  ill.  Con- 
duct must  be  positive;  it  must  aim  at  a  good.^^  What,  for 
instance,  should  be  our  attitude  towards  Fame?  Construing  it 
negatively,  we  might  cite  its  misuse,  its  vanity,  the  perfidious 
applause  of  the  crowd.     That  is  the  view  of  the  disappointed 

'^  Cf.  V,  20,  :Sch.  ^  Cf.  V,  29,  Dem.  "V,  8. 

"  IV,  45,  Sch.  "  V,  4,  Sch.  "  IV,  62,  Cor. 

"C/.  V,  II. 


94  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

candidate,  who  flaunts  it  in  the  face  of  his  contemporaries  as 
evidence  of  his  searching  knowledge  of  the  world.  But  the 
issue  of  his  invective  proves  how  meagrely  he  understands  the 
progress  of  his  spiritual  dialectic.  For  in  his  case  each  separate 
quest  for  fame  is  a  reaction  to  an  ephemeral  stimulus;  it  is  not 
coordinated  to  any  intelligible  rule  of  action;  it  is  merely  the 
output  of  sensuous  impulse.  Hence,  ambition  cannot  remain  a 
permanent  factor  in  his  career ;  it  will  be  superseded  by  vehement 
anger,  malicious  insinuation,  and  ultimate  despair.  The  proper 
values  of  selfhood  are  miserably  obscured. 

Profoundly  antagonistic  to  this  attitude  is  the  course  of  the 
man  who  attempts  to  correlate  kindred  reactions  into  a  definite 
scheme  of  conduct.  The  many  and  varied  occasions  leading  to 
the  pursuit  of  fame  are  interpreted  by  a  single  aim.  In  that 
way  alone  can  he  assert  his  primordial  right  and  deepen  his 
consciousness  of  freedom.^^  Therefore,  he  is  careful  to  esti- 
mate the  psychological  uses  of  fame,  the  objects  of  quest,  and 
the  proper  means  for  procuring  them,  and  to  assess  the  value 
of  each  new  experience  on  the  basis  of  that  judgment.  If  the 
currents  of  life  be  conflicting  or  the  principle  of  selfhood  as  yet 
ineffectually  applied,  he  may  turn  the  abstract  rule  into  a  group 
of  precepts,  commit  them  to  memory,  and  in  the  event  of  an 
emergency  summon  them  to  hand  one  by  one  for  instant  service. 
Thus,  recognizing  an  emotion  will  be  the  same  as  recognizing 
the  presence  of  self;  the  keener  and  more  comprehensive  the 
reaction,  the  greater  our  progress  in  understanding  the  funda- 
mental purpose  of  mind.^^ 

A  second  note  of  progress  is  found  in  the  self's  relation  to 
Time.  Mind  by  its  very  nature  must  grow.  If  it  halt,  if  it 
stagnate,  selfhood  is  obscured  and  may  become  extinct.  Idiocy 
is  not  the  equivalent  of  personality.  Now  growth  requires  time. 
Hence,  the  development  of  self  must  be  reckoned  among  the 
phenomena  of  a  temporal  experience.  Nevertheless,  man  as  a 
person  is  not  in  time  in  the  same  way  that  man  as  an  individual 
is.  The  individual  varies  from  moment  to  moment;  the  self 
abides  the  same,  being  the  correlating  principle  which  alone  ex- 

**V,  9.  ^^V,  10,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  95 

plains  the  otherwise  disjointed  and  unmeaning  organic  events. 
The  self  is  always  present,  the  permanent  repository  of  all  those 
properties  that  go  to  the  making  of  a  man.*^ 

That  it  is  the  same  continuous  self  which  coordinates  utterly 
diverse  reactions  is  a  matter  of  record.  In  an  unreflective  period 
of  life,  e.g.,  childhood,  impulse  asks  for  immediate  satisfaction 
and  will  not  take  denial.  If  of  two  goods  desired  both  be  future, 
the  one  nearer  in  time,  whatever  its  possible  issues,  will  be  per- 
sistently sought.  Even  though  the  issues  of  a  future  good  be 
fully  known,  it  will  be  arbitrarily  sidetracked  in  favor  of  an 
object  whose  charms  are  exercising  their  momentary  spell.^^ 
These  are  facts  persuasive  at  once  to  youth,  manhood  and  old 
age.  They  affirm  inevitably  the  degree  of  freedom  won  or 
lost.  They  also  forecast  the  difficulties  attending  the  self's 
struggle  to  unfold  its  virtues.  So  long  as  sensuous  impressions 
shape  their  career,  men  are  the  abject  servants  of  Time.  But 
when  the  awaking  mind  correlates  events  present,  past  and  fu- 
ture under  some  common  schedule  of  conduct,  then  the  freedom 
of  selfhood  begins  to  emerge.  Thus,  the  value  of  a  good  depends 
not  on  the  moment  of  its  enjoyment,  but  upon  its  essential  char- 
acter. If  the  present  gratifications  be  agreeable  while  the  remote 
effects  are  subversive  of  bodily  health,  the  calculus  of  reflective 
psychology  waives  the  element  of  time  and  pronounces  the 
course  contrary  to  nature.  That  is  to  say,  we  seek  the  greater 
good  of  the  future  in  preference  to  the  lesser  good  of  the  present, 
or  a  lesser  evil  of  the  present  which  leads  to  a  definite  good  of 
the  future ;  because  the  interests  of  self  prescribe  not  an  isolated 
pleasure  here  and  there  but  a  sustained  and  ultimate  benison, 
known  as  harmony  of  mind.^*  The  progress  of  self,  it  follows 
from  this,  proceeds  by  time-obliterating  steps  and  clinches  its 
indigenous  powers  by  subduing  refractory  emotions  to  the  set- 
tled scheme  of  life.^^ 

Yet  just  here  a  caution  must  be  entered.  For  unreflective 
behavior  often  reveals  an  apparent  observance  of  the  same  law, 
vis.,  denial  of  present  good  for  the  sake  of  future  reward.    Thus, 


4a 


Cf.  V,  7,  Dem.  **  IV,  6o,  €or. ;  62 ;  76  and  Cor. 

IV,  9,  10,  16.  *V,  7,  Dem. 


96  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

many  men  believe  that  piety  and  religion  are  burdens  to  be  reso- 
lutely borne,  in  order  either  to  escape  horrible  penalties  after 
death  or  to  gain  celestial  emoluments  of  service.  They  balance 
present  evils  against  future  good  or  greater  future  ills.  Time  is 
insidiously  eliminated  from  the  account  and  a  calculus  of  good 
effected.  The  error  is  due  to  a  defective  psychology.  The  mind 
is  subject  to  development  only  as  an  interpretation  of  the  body's 
reactions.  Hence,  conditions  after  death  cannot  be  compared 
with  experience  in  life.  If  superstitious  believers  were  deprived 
of  this  comparison,  they  would  see  no  incentive  in  the  doctrine 
of  rewards  and  would  return  precipitately  to  their  own  lusts. 
For  the  driving  force  with  them  is  not  the  harmonious  unfolding 
of  natural  powers.  They  are  as  illogical  in  their  attitude  as  one 
who  proposed  to  abandon  the  rational  life  altogether  in  case  he 
found  the  mind  to  cease  at  the  body's  dissolution.  The  true 
standard  of  judgment  is  not  an  ideal  furnished  by  another  world. 
It  must  be  expressed  in  empirical  terms  or  not  at  all.  To  balance 
real  evils  against  a  purely  hypothetical  good  is  unscientific  and 
proves  that  unreflecting  fancy  has  copied  the  rule  of  reason  in 
vain.*^ 

The  third  mark  of  progress  lies  in  the  gratification  incident 
to  each  advance  in  the  self's  control  of  its  experience.  We  must 
observe  the  psychological  order  of  events, — followed  in  Spin- 
oza^s  "Ethics"  as  strictly  as  in  the  most  systematic  modern 
handbook.  The  organic  impulse,  developing  as  emotion  in  the 
higher  life  of  man,  reacts  upon  its  environment,  correlates  its 
mental  impressions  and  records  a  change  in  the  actual  state 
(perfectio)  of  body.  The  value  of  the  change  he  terms  plea- 
sure.^''' Just  as  the  whole  body  acts  in  the  functioning  of  any 
appetite,  so  the  whole  self  undergoes  change  with  every  cor- 
related response.^^  If  then  we  would  learn  whether  the  self  is 
becoming  properly  conscious  of  its  powers,  we  must  consult  the 
kind  and  degree  of  exhilaration  following  upon  the  heels  of  a 
given  reaction.  "Joy,"  says  the  author,  "arises  from  the  true 
apprehension  of  our  virtues  and  their  causes."^^    Change  of  feel- 

**V,  41,  Sch.  «IV,  60. 

*^III,  53;  Def.  Emot.  ii.  "V,  10,  Sch. 


I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  97 

ing  is  instinctively  associated  with  the  idea  of  personal  pro- 
prietorship. It  is  we  who  change ;  it  is  we  who  contemplate  the 
change  and  are  able  to  calculate  its  differentials.^^  Hence,  it  is 
we  who  can  tell,  sometimes  in  precise  terms,  how  substantial  is 
the  progress  effected  by  a  rare  experienced^  We  have  noted 
the  diversity  between  the  pleasures  of  sensual  indulgence  and  the 
elation  of  philosophic  thought.^-  That  was  a  comparison  in  the 
career  of  individuals.  Here  we  study  the  conquests  of  growing 
personality.  If  the  understanding  becomes  distinct  in  proportion 
to  our  ability  to  categorize  experience  and  gradually  do  away 
with  the  confirmatory  evidence  of  sense,^^  surely  the  agent's 
"joy"  must  needs  register  a  parallel  advance.  Thus,  the 
geometer  who  takes  delight  in  drawing  figures  moves  a  definite 
pace  forward  when  he  ascertains,  say,  the  principle  of  a  circle, 
that  if  two  straight  lines  intersect  within  it  the  rectangles  formed 
by  their  segments  will  be  equal  to  one  another.  He  will  advance 
another  step  in  mental  satisfaction  when  he  grasps  the  fact  that 
the  principle  cited  is  objectively  true  whether  the  actual  figure 
be  traced  or  not.  A  supreme  joy  will  gird  his  soul  if  out  of 
such  a  splendid  principle  a  great  discovery  like  the  law  of  gravi- 
tation should  issue. ^*  In  every  case  the  gratification  is  not  an 
impersonal  event,  shut  off  from  the  currents  of  life  by  abstract 
interpretation.  It  is  "accompanied  by  the  idea  of  the  agent  and 
his  virtue,"  a  sure  result  of  the  functioning  of  self-purpose.  It 
foreshadows  the  limiting  concept,  which  stands  at  the  end  of  the 
intellectual  dialectic  and  is  called  by  Spinoza  "blessedness,"  the 
highest  possible  contentment.^^ 

A  practical  test  of  the  degree  of  gratification  reached  is  found 
in  the  exclusion  of  excess  from  the  course  of  self-realization. 
Excess  means  the  disturbance  of  the  organic  equilibrium  by  an 
over-emphasis  on  one  feeling.  For  instance,  derision  is  the  form 
of  laughter  which  selects  and  pillories  a  moral  quality  which  we 
despise  in  an  object  which  we  hate.^^     The  generic  impulse, 

™III,  Def.  Emot.  xxv.  "^Cf.  sup.  pg.  52. 

"IV,  App.  xxxi.  ^11,  13,  Sch. 

"C/.  II,  8,  Sch.,  for  illustration  in  a  totally  different  setting. 
"V,  27,  Dem.  ""Ill,  Def.  Emot.  xi. 


98  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

laughter,  being  an  offshoot  of  cheerfulness,  is  symptomatic  of  a 
healthy  body  and  a  sound  mind  and  should  always  be  cultivated.^'' 
As  a  sign  of  the  superb  joy  of  living  it  cannot  be  excessive;  for 
it  expresses  the  Self  in  its  unmixed  properties;  and  if  the  emo- 
tion were  to  transgress  its  own  bounds  it  would  at  the  same 
time  exact  more  from  the  self  than  Nature  had  made  possible.^ ^ 
Hence,  emotion  when  pure  is  steady,  but  emotion  when  linked 
with  baser  passion,  like  hate,  tends  to  engage  the  mind's  attention 
to  the  retirement  of  all  nobler  thoughts.^ ^  Certain  definite  re- 
sults, such  as  spiritual  inertia  and  sinister  suspicion,  can  be 
traced  directly  to  emotional  excess;  and  their  very  diversity, 
malignity  and  widespread  contagion  prove  how  little  they  are 
under  our  command.^^  It  is  the  business  of  the  developing  self, 
then,  to  cleanse  its  emotions  of  extraneous  elements  and  to  guard 
most  vigilantly  against  the  reappearance  of  every  excluded  habit. 
In  this  sphere  it  is  only  too  true  that  vigilance  is  the  price  of 
liberty. ^^  Our  success  as  responsible  sentinels  will  be  attested  by 
a  change  both  in  the  outward  effects  of  our  action,  and  in  the 
inward  peace.  Hatred  with  its  attendant  discords  must  inev- 
itably give  place  to  a  genuine  sympathy  for  our  kind,  which  in  a 
man's  private  psychology  will  serve  to  redress  the  balance  of 
thought  and  enlarge  the  power  of  choice. 

II 

The  second  aspect  of  self-conscious  development  is  ethical. 
It  considers  man  as  fitted  into  the  framework  of  society.  It 
affirms  that  the  gregarious  instinct,  so  pronounced  in  the  con- 
struction of  character,  has  its  roots  deep  in  the  unique  purpose 
of  the  race.  It  takes  man  out  of  the  exclusion  of  self  and  plants 
his  life  in  the  soil  of  humanity.  We  have  hitherto  conceived 
him  as  possessing  gifts,  properties,  powers;  now  we  must  de- 
scribe him  as  the  depositary  of  obligations.  Heretofore,  a  multi- 
tude of  impressions  have  thronged  through  his  senses,  tending 
to  confirm  his  judgment  of  separateness ;  now  from  his  garnished 
mind  pours  out  a  stream  of  desires  whose  destination  is  the  heart 

"  IV,  42,  45,  Sch.  ~  IV,  6.  "  IV,  App.  xxx. 

"IV,  6i.  ""V,  20.  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  99 

of  another  moral  being.  The  horizon  of  self  is  indefinitely  ex- 
panded. A  social  consciousness  emerges.  We  are  citizens  of  the 
world.  The  bodies  and  minds  of  individual  men  have  coalesced 
into  a  ''single  body  and  a  single  mind,  and  all  men  with  one 
consent  seek  what  is  serviceable  to  all."^^  Thus  the  mind  of 
humanity  is  not  a  complex  of  a  miUion  separate  minds,  but  a 
definite  consciousness,  growing  ever  more  clear  with  the  prog- 
ress of  reflective  civilization.  Such  is  the  hope  which  sweeps  the 
fancy  of  our  philosopher.  We  proceed  to  examine  the  several 
points  that  bring  it  within  the  range  of  credibility. 

The  ethical  relation  is  primarily  grounded  in  the  nature  of 
man.  It  is  not  forced  upon  him  by  mysterious  chance  nor  medi- 
ated by  overwhelming  Fate.  In  the  first  place  the  mental  equip- 
ment of  men  is  the  same.  They  respond  to  the  same  exciting 
causes,  and  can  be  affected  favorably  only  by  those  objects 
which  have  properties  in  common  with  them.^^  They  will  be 
most  favorably  affected  by  individuals  whose  sum  of  qualities  is 
the  same  as  their  own.  The  only  stimulus  of  which  this  is 
true  is  another  man.  Inferior  species  have  similar  organic  func- 
tions, but  they  lack  the  impulse  of  reflection,  man's  distinguishing 
endowment,  and  as  truly  a  law  of  his  nature  as  any  instinct  held 
in  common  with  them.^*  The  rational  impulse  therefore  cannot 
be  satisfied  by  commerce  with  animals.  Towards  them  we  exer- 
cise the  same  rights  that  they  by  virtue  of  their  equipment  have 
in  us,  vis.,  the  power  of  physical  control.  But  since  everyone's 
rights  are  defined  by  the  intrinsic  laws  of  his  being,  man  will 
assume  much  more  sweeping  rights  over  his  subordinates.  He 
will  use  them  as  befits  his  needs,  and  neither  religious  scruple 
nor  mawkish  sentiment  can  dispute  his  mode  of  treatment.^^ 
To  satisfy  the  reflective  impulse,  however,  Nature  has  provided 
a  multitude  of  kindred  minds  and  ordained  that  only  by  the 
union  of  sexes,  both  endowed  with  the  principle  of  intelligence, 
could  the  perpetuity  of  the  race  be  won.^^  Such  minds  are 
capable  of  instituting  fellowship  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the 

•"IV,  i8,  Sch.  *IV,  Z7,  Sch.  i. 

•  IV,  29.  •"  IV,  (^,  Sch. ;  App.  20. 

"IV,  35,  Cor.  i;  cf.  Ill,  49,  Sch. 


lOO  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

impact  of  simpler  organic  tendencies.  They  can  organize  an^ 
exchange  of  ideas  through  articulate  symbols,  an  indisputable 
evidence  of  reflection,  and  thereby  understand  one  another's 
needs  and  together  develop  their  distinctive  purpose.^^ 

To  the  parity  of  nature  we  must  next  add  the  community  of 
end ;  their  destiny  is  the  same.  We  have  defined  the  goal  of  the 
self's  private  endeavor  and  discovered  that  it  is  implicated  in 
the  nature  of  mind.  But  one  self  is  typical  of  every  other. 
What  belongs  to  the  first  must  find  its  secure  place  in  the  second, 
the  third,  and  each  succeeding  self  to  the  end  of  time.  To  rob 
one  man  of  the  end  ascribed  to  another  would  be  equivalent  to 
denying  him  the  right  of  selfhood.^^  The  thesis  is  thus  sup- 
ported by  a  redit^ctio  ad  impossihile,  valid  indeed  as  an  argument 
but  not  practically  persuasive.  We  turn  to  a  more  homely, 
albeit  effective  defense,  as  suggested  by  the  universalistic  aspects 
of  hedonism.  For  every  agent  by  nature  seeks  his  own  highest 
good  and  with  every  successful  attempt  advances  by  a  fixed 
degree  the  command  over  his  own  resources.  Now  if  all  men 
be  involved  in  the  same  moral  struggle,  the  interests  of  each 
individual  agent  will  be  proportionately  improved.  Hence,  no 
man  can  better  serve  his  own  ends  than  by  aiding  his  neighbor 
in  a  consistent  quest  for  rectitude  of  life.^^  That  nature  has 
fashioned  minds  with  genius  to  fit  them  for  entering  such  a 
mutually  favorable  competition,  is  a  plain  contradiction  of  a 
popular,  though  perverted  theory,  which  holds  that  to  pursue 
one's  personal  advantage  is  the  ''foundation  of  impiety."^^  There- 
fore,  every  man  as  responsible  agent  must  lend  his  "skill  and 
temperament"  to  the  training  of  his  fellows,  with  a  view  to 
organizing  for  them  the  same  scheme  of  conduct  that  he  has 
consciously  conceived  for  himself.'''^  In  this  way  man's  private 
desires  become  synonymous  with  the  wider  issues  of  the  race; 
and  since  private  desires  born  of  deep  contemplation  of  the 
self's  true  nature  are  always  good,  it  follows  that  our  public 
virtues  will  exhibit  the  same  standard  of  excellence;  in  other 

"  IV,  App.  26.  "'.I V,  18,  Sch. 

"IV,  36,  Sch.  "IV,  App.  ix. 

**  IV,  35,  Cor.  ii ;  37,  second  Dem. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  ''or 

words,  that  justice,  fidelity  and  benevolence  will  surely 
prevail/- 

Given  these  two  facts  organic  to  the  life  of  man,  what  has 
been  their  effect  on  the  actual  movements  of  society  ?  The  argu- 
ment for  social  consciousness  based  on  experience  is  singularly 
convincing.  It  has  a  double  edge;  it  states,  first,  what  priva- 
tions men  are  saved  from  by  association,  and  secondly,  how  their 
natural  wants  are  satisfactorily  covered/^  A  balance  of  inter- 
ests proves  that  the  advantage  is  distinctly  on  the  side  of  social 
cooperation.  For  if  every  man  exercised  his  so-called  natural 
rights,  he  would  indiscriminately  avenge  his  private  wrongs  and 
expend  hate  and  aversion  upon  all  who  in  any  way  opposed  his 
self-assertions.  The  result  would  be  confusion,  pain  and  death. 
Hence,  such  tendencies  must  somehow  be  curbed,  and  the  natural 
rights  which  give  warrant  to  them  voluntarily  relinquished.  But 
the  organization  of  the  State  is  not  after  all  a  proscription  of 
inherent  powers ;  it  is  a  definite  recognition  of  man's  most  funda- 
mental impulse,  his  desire  for  life.  How  can  he  protect  life  and 
limb,  if  on  every  hand  unrestrained  enemies  are  lusting  for  his 
blood?  The  principle  of  surrendering  secondary  rights  in  order 
to  safeguard  the  primary  purpose  is  well  expressed  by  Spinoza 
in  the  words,  "Men  avoid  inflicting  injury  through  fear  of  re- 
ceiving a  greater  injury  themselves. "''^^  To  save  men  from  the 
dominion  of  hate  by  a  just  regard  for  the  interests  of  all  is  the 
unquestioned  boon  which  coalescence  in  an  organized  society 
prescribes.  It  cannot  fail  to  increase  the  earning  power  of  each 
new  moral  endeavor.'''^ 

But  important  as  this  phase  of  the  argument  is,  it  must  not  be 
left  to  stand  alone.  In  fact,  by  itself  it  would  be  discredited  by 
events.  For  harmony  in  the  social  mind,  if  grounded  solely  in 
fear,  is  tenuous  and  fleeting.  Fear,  as  we  have  intimated,  springs 
always  from  weakness  of  spirit.  When  weakness  of  a  specific 
sort  is  multiplied  in  a  congeries  of  minds,  the  result  can  be  noth- 
ing but  weakness.  If  men  entertain  a  truce  solely  because  of 
their  wavering  temper,  the  steadfastness  of  the  convention  is 

"  IV,  i8,  Sch.  '*  IV,  2>7,  Sch.  ii. 

"^  IV,  35,  Sch.  "  Cf.  IV,  46,  Sch. 


■loi  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

precarious  to  the  last  degree. '^^  To  found  a  state  for  the  de- 
velopment of  social  life,  to  establish  an  arena  for  the  battle  of 
ethical  principles,  the  argument  must  guarantee  certain  positive 
details.  For  example,  it  must  insure  the  cultivation  of  arts  and 
crafts  as  the  legitimate  output  of  the  inventive  mind  of  man. 
In  all  the  history  of  the  human  race  an  accepted  medium  of  ex- 
change has  been  the  sheet-anchor  of  social  stability.  Anthro- 
pology in  its  recent  inquiries  has  amply  demonstrated  what 
Spinoza  implied  and  all  economists  have  dwelt  on,  viz.,  that  the 
test  of  organization,  the  evidence  of  a  common  consciousness,  is 
revealed  with  great  clearness  in  the  tribe's  attitude  to  barter  and 
trade.  Just  as  in  untutored  society  a  piece  of  metal  or  its 
equivalent  evinces  one  man's  readiness  to  trust  his  neighbor,  so 
in  the  highly  complex  system  of  modern  credit  the  same  trait 
appears  on  a  grandiose  scale. '''^  Again,  common  consciousness 
feels  the  inevitable  discrepancy  between  individuals  units  in 
place,  opportunity  and  equipment.  There  are  numbers  of  men 
naturally  disqualified  for  service.  Individual  munificence,  how- 
ever great,  can  not  provide  for  the  needs  of  poverty,  distress  and 
delinquency.  The  organized  state  must  do  so.  It  is  the  trustee 
of  the  common  good,  and  to  its  offices  all  disabled  citizens  are 
justified  in  appealing.  The  governing  motive  should  never  be 
that  of  lordly  generosity.  Charity  is  not  an  emotional  senti- 
ment; it  is  good  economic  policy.  It  has  "regard  for  the  gen- 
eral advantage."  By  helping  one,  the  state  helps  all.'^^  Such  is  the 
breadth  of  view  to  which  the  social  consciousness  calls  us.  He 
who  enters  intelligently  into  the  spirit  of  mutualism  finds  him- 
self carried  along  the  course  of  personal  development  at  an  amaz- 
ing speed.    Truly  the  end  of  all  is  each  man's  projected  goal. 

The  term  of  the  ethical  dialectic  is  now  in  sight,  a  civil  man- 
hood, so  to  say,  embodying  the  universalized  virtues  of  the 
single  self.  By  the  very  nature  of  the  case  it  can  never  be  fully 
reached;  but  its  several  stages  will  be  realized  pari  passu  with 
the  realization  of  the  individual  series.  The  process,  however, 
is  more  involved,  inasmuch  as  a  multitude  of  minds  meet  and 
struggle  in  the  same  arena.     The  persistent  interaction  of  self- 

'•IV,  App.  i6.  "C/.  IV,  App.  28.  "IV,  App.  17. 


» 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  103 

empowered  agents  gives  edge  and  value  to  the  ethical  life.  Just 
what  that  interaction  is,  just  how  the  contest  may  be  successfully 
maintained,  is  the  next  point  to  be  determined. 

Moral  energies  do  not  spring  from  the  play  of  unharnessed 
impulses.  These  by  themselves  evince  no  tendency  to  bind  men 
together.  The  only  kind  of  union  implied  is  that  which  sub- 
jects the  weaker  to  the  forcible  dominion  of  the  stronger.  Thus,, 
if  we  study  to  make  other  men  live  according  to  rules  devised  by 
ourselves,  we  are  purposely  using  them  for  the  promotion  of  our 
own  interest.  For  if  they  by  any  hap  dispossess  us  of  our 
coveted  goods,  instantly  hate  and  threats  of  vengeance  ensue.'^^ 
Plainly,  then,  at  root  men  cannot  be  in  harmony  and  still  pursue 
the  same  material  end,  since  one  of  them  must  at  length  lay  en- 
gaging hands  upon  it  and  wrest  it  from  the  other's  control. 
Discomfiture  and  chagrin  are  the  penalties.  Not  good  as  the 
particular  object  of  desire,  but  good  as  realized  by  one,  and 
denied  to  the  other,  is  the  true  index  of  this  state  of  feeling.*^ 
On  so  divisive  a  basis  a  program  looking  to  the  formation  of 
common  obligations  cannot  be  effected.  It  is  this  very  situation 
which  Spinoza  conceives  as  existing  in  prehistoric  times.  The 
"state  of  nature"  was  a  state  of  discord  and  despair.  Men, 
being  a  prey  to  unharnessed  appetites,  acted  always  in  defiance 
of  their  neighbor's  interests.  Hence,  no  standards  of  good  and 
evil  could  be  framed,  since  each  agent  was  a  law  to  himself,  and 
standards  even  if  set  up  would  be  at  once  in  conflict  and  could 
only  be  confirmed  by  force.  Moreover,  in  a  state  of  nature  the 
idea  of  private  property  is  quite  unknown.  Land  and  tools  are 
held  in  common,  used  as  each  one  pleases,  and  then  abandoned. 
It  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  perform  the  most  rudimentary  duty, 
viz.,  rendering  to  another  man  what  rightfully  belongs  to  him. 
In  other  words,  the  conceits  of  Ethics  are  as  yet  unframed. 

Ethical  interaction  cannot  depend  primarily  upon  reaction  to 
common  needs.  From  what  then  does  it  derive  its  impetus? 
Plainly  from  the  same  reflective  impulse  which  points  the  way 
to  the  evolution  of  the  social  consciousness.  We  must  not  sup- 
pose however  that  the  organic  appetites  of  body  are  extinguished 

"IV,  37,  Sch.  i.  ~IV,  34,  Sch. 


104  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

by  the  magic  of  a  word.  On  the  contrary  famiUar  emotions 
once  directed  to  instinctive  ends  will  be  illuminated  with  new 
beauty  when  wrought  upon  by  a  truly  moral  purpose.  Thus 
ambition,  which  seeks  a  man's  private  aggrandisement  by  absorb- 
ing other  interests  into  his  own,  is  transmuted  into  an  instrument 
of  reflection,  collating  the  common  habits,  rights,  duties  and 
destinies  of  mankind  into  a  superior  virtue,  and  clothing  it  with 
the  honored  name  of  Piety.^^  A  broader  appraisement  of  Self  is 
made  in  view  of  its  new  relations  to  other  selves.  The  exertion 
of  power  formerly  confined  to  its  effect  upon  our  own  life  is 
now  judged  in  a  twofold  way.  No  longer  alone  and  irresponsible 
in  a  stimulating  environment,  no  longer  at  liberty  to  make  an 
unmixed  sense-impact  on  our  fellow,  as  the  lower  organism 
does,  we  are  constrained  to  study  his  activity  in  the  same  man- 
ner in  which  we  studied  our  own.  Perceiving  that  all  mutual 
interests  are  inextricably  mingled,  we  are  bound  to  treat  his  needs 
with  courteous  consideration.  If  the  reflective  mind  is  the  only 
power  capable  of  forming  friendship,  it  is  the  manifest  duty  of 
him  who  possesses  it  to  guide  his  behavior  by  the  rules  of 
friendly  intercourse.  For  how,  if  he  does  not  follow  the  clear 
tendency  of  his  kind,  can  he  possibly  rise  to  a  level  of  moral  ob- 
ligation, where  he  acts  out  of  due  respect  to  his  neighbor's 
interests  ?^^ 

The  trial  of  strength  often  comes  suddenly,  but  when  it  comes 
it  reveals  the  stage  of  development  with  unfailing  exactness.  A 
wrong  done,  perhaps  amid  aggravated  circumstances,  the  deep 
hurt  to  our  sensibilities,  the  festering  sore,  the  smoldering  re- 
sentment, the  bursting  of  bonds  in  flaming  anger, — who  has  not 
passed  through  spiritual  anguish,  in  which  emotions  like  these 
have  crowded  thick  upon  him  ?  Impulse,  the  handmaid  of  Hate, 
reigns  supreme,  and  with  queenly  fury  terrorizes  the  hopes  of 
friendship  into  silence.  If  ever  the  "state  of  nature"  has  been 
conquered,  it  returns  again  with  pristine  vigor,  and  woe  to  the 
mind  that  dares  to  challenge  the  intruder's  entry!  But  the  self 
which  has  already  tasted  the  joys  of  freedom  knows  how  galling 
the  old  servitude  would  be,  if  revived.    Its  business  therefore  is 

"V,  4,  Sch.  "^IV,  Z7,  Sch.  i. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  105 

to  organize  a  code  of  defense.  It  will  affirm  the  value  of  moral 
relations,  possible  only  on  the  footing  of  friendship.  It  will 
point  again  to  the  fact  that  coalescence,  social  harmony,  is  the 
birthright  of  the  mind,  and  that  our  real  good  as  reflective  be- 
ings can  spring  alone  from  the  mutual  discharge  of  duty.  It 
will  analyze  to  the  minutest  point  the  causes  leading  to  the  in- 
fliction of  wrong,  and  devise  methods  by  which  they  can  be 
either  averted  or  mitigated  in  effect.  When  these  things  are  done 
the  heat  of  anger  shall  have  been  quenched,  at  least  in  part,  and 
the  moral  equilibrium  in  part  restored,  and  we  shall  have  been 
taught  the  office  of  patience  as  a  sufficient  answer  to  the  defiance 
and  disesteem  of  the  world.^^ 

So  much  for  the  triumph  of  reason  among  neighbors.  No 
less  impressive  is  its  triumph  in  the  sphere  of  citizenship.  When 
men  yielded  to  the  State  their  right  to  redress  private  injuries, 
they  gave  up  also  by  implication  a  right  to  pass  judgment  on 
another's  conduct.®*  Judgment  can  be  adequately  framed  when 
the  interests  of  all  are  taken  into  account,  that  is  to  say,  when 
the  peace  of  the  body  politic  is  safeguarded.  The  intent  of 
requital  for  wrong  is  not  recrimination,  and  should  not  be  at- 
tended by  a  feeling  of  indignation.  Right  and  wrong,  justice 
and  injustice  do  not  exist  as  guiding  concepts  in  a  state  of 
nature;  for,  as  we  have  seen,  relationships  such  as  owner  and 
goods  are  entirely  foreign  to  its  experience.  They  enter  when 
by  common  consent  rights  and  privileges  are  delegated  to  par- 
ticular persons.  It  would  be  meaningless  to  punish  an  organic 
being  as  a  responsible  agent  before  the  basis  of  his  responsibility 
has  been  laid.  That  would  be  an  attempt  to  ruin  him  simply 
out  of  instinctive  opposition,  without  vindicating  in  the  least 
the  new  principle  of  organization  which  the  impulse  of  reflec- 
tion has  set  in  motion.  Penal  action  is  not  retributive  but  cura- 
tive. It  aims  to  preserve  the  harmony  of  the  social  units  and 
to  provide  a  field  for  the  proper  working  out  of  ethical  prob- 
lems. It  argues  that  when  men  enter  a  moral  society  they  re- 
ceive a  guarantee  of  safe  conduct  so  long  as  they  comply  with 
the  terms  of  the  compact,  and  that  when  they  have  violated  its 

^V,  10,  :Sch.;  IV,  App.  14.  '^IV,  App.  24. 


io6  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

terms  they  have  by  that  act  made  it  more  difficult  for  other  citi- 
zens to  fulfil  their  part  of  the  agreement.  Hence,  the  public 
welfare  compels  the  state  to  exact  reprisal  by  distraint  or  physi- 
cal disability.  If  law  and  its  sanctions  be  not  administered,  social 
coalescence  fails  and  the  foundations  of  the  State  crumble 
away.^^ 

The  general  rule  just  enunciated  is  illustrated  in  the  attitude 
of  the  moral  agent  towards  the  matter  of  honesty.  Is  not  a  man 
justified  in  resorting  to  deceit  for  the  sake  of  defending  himself 
against  injury?  Does  not  the  most  elementary  conation  demand 
that  by  hook  or  crook  the  menacing  enemy  should  be  circum- 
vented? The  answer  must  be  found  in  the  distinctive  purpose 
governing  the  development  of  the  race.  What  reflection  pre- 
scribes for  one  unit  it  prescribes  for  all.  If  deception  be  a 
perfectly  moral  implement  in  an  individual  case,  it  must  by 
virtue  of  mental  consanguinity  be  fitted  to  the  conduct  of  man- 
kind in  general.  But  in  that  event  no  one  would  feel  himself 
under  obligation  to  this  or  any  other  law,  and  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  carefully  developed  jurisprudence  would  be  null  and  void. 
Just  as  soon  as  we  understand  that  such  an  issue  contradicts 
both  the  meaning  of  the  reflective  impulse  and  the  actual  practice 
of  history  the  absurdity  of  deceit  as  an  instrument  of  self- 
defense  is  convincingly  apparent. ^^  We  are  forced  to  be  honest 
in  order  to  preserve  the  equilibrium  of  society  and  secure  our 
own  welfare, — so  fully  do  the  moral  canons  which  have  guided 
the  upward  trend  of  civilization  take  their  color  from  the  rela- 
tion of  private  interests  to  the  common  good. 

The  destiny  of  man  being  social  in  its  values,  his  freedom 
can  be  attained  only  under  the  spell  of  ethical  interaction.  If 
commerce  with  irrational  creatures  fails  to  call  out  the  deeper 
motives  of  the  self,  equally  unavailing  is  a  man's  communion 
with  himself.  For  complete  freedom  of  thought  cannot  be  real- 
ized so  long  as  he  declines  to  throw  into  the  scale  every  penny- 
weight of  power  which  his  unique  purpose  affords  him.  To 
dwell  in  solitude  away  from  the  haunts  of  men,  so  far  from 
enlarging  his  independence,  in  reality  shuts  him  off  from  the 
-IV,  37,  Sch.  ii;  51.  ""IV,  72. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  107 

very  forces  which  can  satisfy  the  needs  of  his  nature.^''  In  the 
last  analysis,  then,  to  live  untrammeled  by  the  restraints  of 
traditionary  law  is  not  an  evidence  of  freedom.  The  average 
citizen  is  right  in  dealing  harshly  with  one  who  slights  or  scorn- 
fully rejects  the  received  customs  of  society.  These  have  been 
created  by  the  determined  push  of  the  reflective  instinct,  questing 
after  an  ever  freer  atmosphere  for  its  inspirations.®^  Selfhood 
comes  to  its  surest  privilege  under  the  favoring  stimulus  of 
social  organization.  It  must  be  burdened  with  duties  in  ordep 
to  broaden  its  scope  of  activity.  The  more  serious  responsi- 
bilities it  assumes,  the  greater  is  its  degree  of  freedom.  There- 
fore to  possess  the  "general  rights  of  citizenship"  is  the  am- 
bition of  the  freedom-seeking  soul.*^ 

Nevertheless,  in  responding  to  social  stimulus  one  may  be  as 
discriminating  as  in  his  organic  reactions, — even  more  so.  Free- 
dom does  not  demand  universal  assumption  of  ethical  relations. 
Indeed,  the  choice  we  make  of  personal  obligation  will  frequently 
denote  the  type  of  freedom  reached.  Thus,  the  wise  man  may 
decline  to  accept  favors  from  one  ruled  by  appetite,  on  the 
ground  that  the  standard  of  judgment  is  different.  Reason 
does  not  reckon  human  intercourse  as  a  field  for  barter  and  ex- 
change. We  do  not  bestow  a  benefit  for  the  sake  of  receiving  an 
exact  recompense  in  kind.  Impulse  on  the  other  hand  regards 
it  as  a  hardship  when  its  advances  are  otherwise  estimated  than 
in  its  two  terms.  The  result  is  disappointment  and  revenge. 
To  avoid  such  a  contretemps  reflection  bids  us  use  our  freedom 
in  choosing  whom  we  shall  meet  in  intimate  moral  relations, 
with  the  reservation  that  when  associated  with  those  whose 
nature  is  averse  from  our  own,  and  forced  to  accept  a  favor, 
we  should  match  their  offers  with  equal  service,  never  giving 
them  a  chance  to  dispute  our  motive  or  suspect  a  note  of  con- 
tempt in  our  behavior.^^ 

The  freedom  caught  in  such  ethical  snatches  finds  its  fulfill- 
ment in  the  social  harmony,  where  men  live  in  exclusive  obe- 
dience to  the  laws  of  reason  and  each  man  is  in  fact  his  brother's 
keeper.^^ 

"IV,  35,  Sch.  «"!¥,  73^  "IV,  35,  Cor.  i;  46,  Sch. 

"C/.  IV,  App.  14.  ""IV,  70,  71. 


io8  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 


III 


The  dialectic  of  self-realization  is  not  satisfied  by  man's  re- 
flective interpretation  of  private  reaction  or  his  absorption  in 
the  common  consciousness  of  his  kind.  These  two  experiences, 
varied  and  engrossing  as  they  are,  yet  in  each  analysis  deal  with 
particular  objects,  whose  relations  to  him  are  always  determined 
by  the  categories  of  logical  thought.  We  catch  the  idea  of  self- 
hood through  the  unceasing  correlating  movements  of  the  mind. 
This  percept,  that  percept,  this  feeling,  that  feeling,' — units  of 
consciousness, — follow  one  another  so  closely,  and  are  by  in- 
stinct so  concisely  compared,  that  without  initiation  on  the  part 
of  the  thinker  the  picture  of  a  self  emerges.  Then,  brought  in 
contact  with  similar  minds,  a  new  type  of  image  is  generated, 
new  trains  of  thought  are  started.  Springs  of  action  heretofore 
untapped  send  forth  their  gleaming  emotions.  Man  was  not 
made  to  dwell  alone.  He  must  speak  with  a  fellowman  and 
through  the  avenues  of  friendship  construct  the  laws  of  ethical 
restraint,  which  in  the  end  shall  refine  his  character  and  incite 
him  to  noble  deeds.  The  reflective  impulse  as  we  have  thus 
far  studied  it  guarantees  all  this  to  its  holders.  But  it  guar- 
antees more,  much  more;  it  opens  a  new  continent  of  observa- 
tion. Reflection,  we  said,  operates  first  in  the  field  of  psychology, 
secondly  in  the  field  of  ethics.  Now  we  advance  one  step  further 
and  describe  the  ultima  thule  of  human  endeavor.  The  impulse 
becomes  religious,  and  when  it  has  been  duly  developed  the 
dialectic  of  self  is  satisfied. 

We  should  note  at  the  outset  that  religion  in  Spinoza's  opinion 
is  not  an  interloper,  masquerading  under  the  guise  of  human 
desire.  To  construe  its  terms,  as  many  have  done,  as  childish 
reactions  to  nature's  portents,  as  elaboratae  figments  of  poetic 
fancy,  as  political  machinery  for  the  suppression  of  popular 
revolt,  or  in  the  latest  form  as  the  product  of  age-long  develop- 
ment in  certain  nerve-tracts  of  the  brain,  would  be  from  his 
point  of  view  merely  clever  examples  of  petitio  principii.  Re- 
ligion stands  on  the  same  platform  as  moral  obligation.  If  men 
by  virtue  of  their  unique  purpose  are  constrained  to  associate 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  109 

themselves  in  the  interchange  of  thought,  just  as  truly  are  they 
bound  to  entertain  the  idea  of  wider  relations,  such  as  the  term 
Religion  connotes.^-  To  follow  a  religious  mode  of  life  one 
does  not  need  to  wait  upon  the  high  moments  of  inspiration, 
when  he  fully  understands  the  values  of  the  world-consciousness. 
Religious  feeling  of  a  rudimentary  sort,  yet  a  true  child  of 
natural  impulse,  controls  even  the  lowest  rounds  of  racial  be- 
havior. Even  when  civilization  has  enlightened  the  horizon  of 
scientific  inquiry,  but  kept  theological  dogma  crude  and  merce- 
nary, this  offshoot  of  reflection  remains  vigorous  and  compelling. 
The  explanation  is  not  far  to  seek.  Since  private  interest  is  and 
must  be  the  ''first  foundation  of  virtue  and  the  rule  of  right 
living,"  anything  that  conduces  to  that  end  cannot  be  left  on 
one  side.  Plainly  among  the  most  constructive  qualities  of  the 
human  mind  none  is  more  insistent  in  its  claim  to  primacy  than 
broadmindedness.^^  The  nearer  evidences  of  so  high  a  trait 
are  found  in  the  strictly  empirical  phenomena  of  sobriety  and 
presence  of  mind  in  the  face  of  dinger.^'*  But  there  are  finer 
examples  of  it,  not  to  be  reckoned  in  terms  of  physical  reaction. 
They  may  be  paralleled  by  the  edicts  of  civil  manhood,  which  bid 
us  bear  with  equanimity  the  social  wrongs  we  cannot  cure.  If 
we,  like  other  individuals,  are  imbedded  in  the  solid  fabric  of 
nature  and  cannot  act  without  her  call,  shall  we  mope  and  moan 
amid  circumstances  that  the  momentary  complex  of  ideas  pro- 
claims as  contrary  to  our  best  interests  ?  Shall  we  not  rather  as 
reflective  beings,  understanding  the  irreversible  necessity  of 
every  event,  accept  our  lot  without  complaint  and  steel  the  mind 
to  persist  in  such  acquiescence?^^  To  this  frame  of  thought 
the  Stoics  approached,  and  certainly  we  cannot  refrain  from 
regarding  their  conduct  as  guided  by  the  religious  instincts  of 
the  race.^^  The  conclusion  is  again  pressed  home  that  man  can 
"neither  be  nor  be  conceived"  without  the  faculty  of  entering 
into  an  appreciation  of  the  highest  good.^'^  Religious  aspira- 
tions are  common  to  all  men. 

''  IV,  2,7,  Sch.  i.  •«  IV,  App.  32. 

^Animositas.  V,  41  and  Sch.  "C/.  V,  Pref. 

»*III,  59,  Sch.  "IV,  z6,  Sch. 


no  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

Still  another  fact  confronts  the  careful  student.  If  religion 
and  the  ethical  sense  issue  from  the  same  impulse,  there  must  be 
some  intimate  interaction  between  them.  They  cannot  be  se- 
questered in  wholly  unrelated  compartments  of  thought.  They 
belong  to  an  organic  Self  whose  every  expression  embodies  the 
feeling  of  the  entire  system.^^  It  is  an  axiom  of  the  history  of 
religious  creeds  that  each  new  faith  is  still-born  except  as  it  has 
the  capacity  of  projecting  its  tenets  into  the  common  life  of  the 
people.  The  milieu  of  religion  is  not  individual  conviction  but 
the  social  exchange.  It  follows  that  the  religious  impulse,  being 
supreme  in  the  counsels  of  selfhood,  cannot  fail  to  exert  a  com- 
manding influence  over  moral  conduct.  Private  interests,  we 
found,  were  practically  subserved  by  seeking  for  others  the  same 
good  which  we  crave  for  ourselves.  Interpret  private  interests 
in  the  light  of  a  religious  ideal,  and  we  expand  indefinitely  their 
.values.  But  while  we  increase  the  compass  of  our  own  good, 
we  cannot  exclude  our  neighbor  from  sharing  in  the  same  ad- 
vance. In  order  therefore  to  realize  the  newly  conceived  indi- 
vidual good  we  must  put  forth  larger  exertion  for  the  benefit  of 
the  social  whole.  Each  step  in  the  understanding  of  the  religious 
ideal  makes  a  man  more  acutely  sensitive  to  his  ethical  obliga- 
tion.^^ How  shall  we  frame  a  more  authentic  test  of  the  purity 
of  religious  progress  than  by  examining  the  state  of  morals  in 
any  community  where  the  ideal  has  been  intelligently  adopted? 
For  example,  every  act  that  carries  in  its  train  the  elements  of 
pain,  is  contrary  to  justice  as  organized  in  civil  law,  and  to  the 
higher  instincts  of  religion. ^^^  Now  if  the  social  tendency  be 
to  recompense  hate  with  hate,  we  not  only  prove  how  little  we 
understand  the  nature  of  duty,  but  also  how  completely  we  have 
misconceived  the  salient  facts  of  the  universe.  True  virtue  can 
only  be  maintained  by  repeating  in  human  conduct  the  harmony 
of  nature.  What  unreflective  men  have  called  disorder  and  in- 
justice in  the  operation  of  her  laws  is  now  seen  to  have  issued 
from  their  confused  or  fragmentary  view  of  events. ^^^  Nature 
is  ruled  by  unbending  necessity;  it  has  no  hate  or  revenge.     If 

-C/.  IV,  60.  ""IV,  App.  24. 

"IV,  2^7,  Dem.  ^~IV,  7Z,  Sch. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  in 

religion  be  allowed  to  have  her  way  in  the  ethical  development 
of  the  race,  she  will  prescribe  love  and  brotherhood  and  a  just 
regard  for  another's  rights. ^^^  j^^j.  ministry  is  remarkably  effi- 
cacious; for  those  who  are  the  beneficiaries  of  love,  especially 
of  the  sort  prompted  by  religious  intelligence,  find  a  new  joy  in 
living,  a  new  appreciation  of  the  fibre  of  manhood,  that  sinks 
the  impulse  of  resentment  in  the  resolve  to  do  good.  It  cannot 
be  denied  that  the  type  and  mode  of  execution  of  the  religious 
ideal  are  authoritative  gauges  of  the  race's  moral  character.  If 
religion  does  nothing  else,  it  guarantees  to  every  man  freedom 
deliberately  to  cancel  the  common  response  to  threat  and  abuse, 
and  make  return  of  good  for  evil.  No  greater  evidence  of  the 
autonomy  of  self  can  be  desired. ^^^ 

Having  determined  the  universal  validity  of  reflection's  high- 
est impulse,  we  next  seek  acquaintance  with  its  terms.  Towards 
what  does  this  drive  carry  us  ?  Reflective  effort  begins  with  the 
commonest  data  of  perception,  but  it  does  not  stop  there.  It 
continues  its  correlating  office  in  the  vicinage  of  contending 
minds ;  but  here  too  its  aims  are  not  finally  realized.  There  is  a 
province  of  human  experience  as  yet  untouched,  one  too  that 
lies  altogther  beyond  the  pale  of  animal  simulation.  For  while 
the  higher  organism  may  take  pleasure  in  the  presence  of  its 
kind,  may  suffer  from  what  looks  like  nostalgic  depression  when 
a  mate  is  removed,  may  even  recognize  some  signs  of  communi- 
cation and  fashion  a  code  of  subhuman  ethics,  there  is  not  a 
scintilla  of  evidence  to  suggest  that  the  dog  or  horse  feels  him- 
self bowed  in  awe  before  the  mystery  of  cosmic  power.  In  this 
domain  man  dwells  alone,  serenely  alone.  He  cannot  share  his 
secret  intimations  with  the  brute;  he  cannot  at  times  express 
the  strange  exhilaration  to  his  most  appreciative  neighbor. 
Religion,  as  no  other  function  of  the  r^eflective  impulse,  proves 
that  man's  purpose  is  unique,  and  that  however  closely  his  other 
actions  resemble  the  reactional  processes  of  lower  organisms, 
when  we  reach  the  stage  of  broadest  sweep  the  conceptual  powers 
of  the  human  mind  are  no  longer  susceptible  of  imitation.    For 

'"^  IV,  App.  15 ;  V.  20.  ^"^  IV.  46,  Sch. 


112  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

it  is  essential  to  the  program  of  religion  that  we  enter  the  highest 
field  of  knowledge  which  we  are  capable  of  investigating.^^* 
This  will  not  imply  that  we  must  cover  every  detail  of  scientific 
procedure.  Only  infinite  intelligence  could  do  that,  and  infinite 
intelligence  is  by  hypothesis  the  limiting  concept  toward  which 
the  refinement  of  human  experience  tends.  Religion  assumes 
that  we  know  that  God  exists,  but  it  does  not  assume  that  we 
know  all  the  modes  of  divine  activity.^^^ 

The  attitude  of  reflection  as  respects  the  world-problem  is, 
Spinoza  argues,  radically  different  from  that  of  sense-percep- 
tion. Let  us  take  the  first  of  the  infinite  attributes,  viz.,  Exten- 
sion. How  does  the  eye  or  the  hand  regard  Matter?  Not  as 
infinite,  for  their  sensuous  reach  is  extremely  limited;  not  as 
indivisible,  for  the  parts  fall  into  analyzable  bits  before  the 
simplest  experiment  of  chemistry;  nor  yet  as  permanent,  for 
vapor  may  be  condensed  into  water,  and  water  into  solid,  all 
material  elements  being  subject  to  the  rules  of  genesis  and  disso- 
lution. If  this  were  the  end  of  our  inquiry,  the  place  of  religion 
would  be  entirely  vacated.  Reflection  however  enters,  and  shows 
that  though  one  element  may  change  into  another  there  is  no 
resultant  loss;  that  when  chemical  units  are  compounded  they 
invariably  assume  a  fixed  relation;  and  that  each  event  in  the 
purview  of  perception  is  tied  back  to  another,  and  that  to  still 
another,  until  an  infinite  series  is  set  in  motion,  passing  by 
assumption  the  grasp  of  a  single  mind.  Thus  are  we  drawn 
away  from  the  contemplation  of  the  broken  arcs  to  the  appre- 
hension of  the  spheric  round.  God,  the  unchangeable  Substance, 
engages  the  religious  impulse  as  its  proper  end-in-view.^^^ 

No  less  emphatic  is  the  mind's  rapprochement  towards  the 
second  of  the  divine  attributes.  Thought,  or  consciousness,  we 
have  already  discovered,  is  another  aspect  of  tangible  matter.^^'' 
The  behavior  of  a  biological  organism  is  interpreted  through  the 
function  which  its  primary  or  secondary  impulses  perform.  In 
the  case  of  man,  when  a  wholly  new  purpose  appears  the  office 
of  consciousness  becomes  exceedingly  complex,   and  at  times 

^IV,  28,  Dem.  ^"^I,  15,  Sch. 

^•"IV,  App.  4.  ^'^^  Sup.  pg.  43. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  113 

baffles  understanding.  Nevertheless,  we  are  persuaded  that  its 
business  is  to  express  the  activity  of  the  organic  Ufe  by  means 
of  a  self-discriminating  personality.  When  we  leave  the  level 
of  "finite  modes"  may  we  carry  with  us  the  same  principle  of 
coordination?  Is  it  true  that  the  universe  possesses  a  conscious- 
ness, which  infallibly  interprets  the  minutest  facts  of  physics  and 
chemistry?  Spinoza  argues  for  this  position.  He  holds  that  we 
"must  explain  the  order  of  the  whole  of  nature  or  the  whole 
chain  of  causes  through  the  attribute  of  thought  only."^^^  God 
is  not  alone  extended  Substance;  he  is  a  thinking  Thing.^^^ 
Granting  this,  we  are  not  merely  permitted,  we  are  obliged  to 
examine  the  total  meaning  of  nature.  This  impetus  for  exami- 
nation stirs  within  us  in  the  guise  of  religion.  It  must  be 
strictly  differentiated  from  the  common  habit  of  thought,  that 
appoints  for  each  natural  event  a  specific  end.  Thus,  men  are 
constantly  saying  that  Nature  has  blundered  or  left  her  work 
undone, — because  she  has  not  measured  her  act  by  their  pre- 
conceived types.  Her  duty,  they  affirm,  is  to  adapt  every  physi- 
cal law  or  organic  process  to  the  good  of  humanity,  man  being 
her  choicest  product. 

The  mistake,  which  is  a  familiar  one,  lies  in  considering  each 
phenomenon  in  its  individual  relations  and  apart  from  the  or- 
ganization of  the  whole.  God  does  not  act  for  this  or  that 
private  end — he  does  not  act  for  an  end  as  such,  a  thing  pre- 
cedently  conceived,  but  as  yet  unrealized.  Nature  exists  because 
it  exists,  and  acts  because  it  acts.^^^  The  doctrine  of  finality  is 
without  meaning  here,  for  Nature  does  not  admit  of  imperfec- 
tions. Rather  is  she  steadily  and  with  increasing  clearness  re- 
vealing her  glorious  perfections  to  intelligent  observers,  tying 
both  scientific  laws  and  the  single  events  illustrating  them  back  to 
the  unbending  mechanism  of  her  system.^ ^^  Hence,  the  quest 
of  the  religious  impulse  is  for  a  view  of  the  world  from  whose 
contour  the  incidents  of  defect  are  being  progressively  elimi- 
nated. That  the  quest  should  not  be  vain  may  be  gathered  from 
the  fundamental  nature  of  man.     For  his  mind  can  have  a  pre- 

"MI,  7,  Sch.  "M,  II. 

"''II,  I.  '"C/.  II,  5. 


114  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

cise  knowledge  of  reality, — its  own  actions,  its  body,  the  en- 
vironing objects,  all  part  and  parcel  of  the  divine  Substance. ^^^ 
If  we  accepted  as  guides  only  ideas  that  could  be  verified  by 
facts,  we  should  soon  exclude  pain  as  a  human  experience,  and 
understanding  perfectly  the  ways  of  Nature  move  with  uninter- 
cepted  freedom  amid  the  varied  combinations  of  her  forces.^^^ 
Indeed,  if  the  reflective  powers  had  been  fully  developed  at  the 
start,  we  should  have  had  no  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  but 
a  continuous  rapport  with  the  necessary  order  of  the  world.  The 
career  of  humanity,  however,  proves  that  its  potential  capacity 
has  never  been  completely  unfolded  except  in  the  limiting  con- 
cept. There  have  been  temporary  snatches  of  lucid  thought,  as 
in  the  faith  of  the  Patriarchs  and  in  the  spirit  of  Christ,  but  the 
great  majority  of  mankind  have  sold  their  religious  birthright 
for  the  grossest  gratifications  of  sense.^^*  They  have  trodden 
the  sodden  path  of  the  beast,  when  they  might  have  contributed 
to  the  framing  of  an  ethical  standard  whose  terms  would  have 
spelt  social  happiness.  In  short,  instead  of  emphasizing  the 
eternal  "something"  which  makes  man  divine,  they  have  been 
content  to  esteem  the  fragmentary  sketches  of  nature  as  of 
primary  value  and  let  the  vast  program  of  causality  pass  by  un- 
noticed.^^^  Only  when  it  is  too  late  do  narrow  minds  realize 
how  futile  it  is  for  a  man  to  put  himself  in  a  mood  indifferent 
or  antagonistic  to  natural  force.  We  conquer  solely  by 
comphance.^^^ 

The  goal  of  the  religious  impulse  being  definitely  sighted, 
how,  it  is  asked,  shall  we  organize  it  into  the  practical  experience 
of  the  Self  ?  It  cannot  be  done  by  forming  a  general  notion,  in 
the  same  way  that  we  frame  the  ideas  of  humanity,  justice, 
necessity,  etc.  For  though  such  notions  are  fixed  in  the  mind 
as  objective  facts,  they  are  in  common  usage  inevitably  cast  in 
the  mold  of  a  sensuous  image.  Nor  can  transcendental' ideas 
like  Being,  Thing,  etc.,  escape  the  same  alignment.  Thus,  the 
highest  concept  of  the  mind,  viz.,  God,  has  its  empirical  associ- 
ations in  some  natural  object  or  artificial  device  from  which  we 

•"II,  47,  Dem.  ^*  IV,  68  and  Sch.  "'V,  i8. 

""IV,  64.  ^''V,23. 


r 


I 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  115 

have  drawn  or  into  which  we  have  injected  certain  controUing 
properties.  Such  a  method  is  a  prohfic  source  of  error;  for 
there  is  an  unbridged  chasm  between  the  idea  at  the  base  of  the 
rehgious  impulse  and  the  myriad-faced  forms  by  which  men 
try  to  express  it.  There  is  no  greater  correspondence  between 
them  than  between  the  true  computation  of  figures  in  the  sub- 
Hminal  consciousness  and  the  mistaken  results  as  worked  out  on 
paper.^^^  The  application  of  the  logical  categories  helps  enor- 
mously to  dissipate  the  crude  and  inept  conceptions  of  divine 
nature,  especially  by  holding  before  the  mind  the  principle  of 
causality.^^^  Moreover,  the  correct  habits  of  religion  can  only 
be  formed  by  training  the  mind  to  observe  the  universal  rela- 
tions of  every  experience.  Just  as  true  science  can  not  be  built 
upon  scattered  observations,  with  no  common  connecting  thread 
of  law,  so  true  religion  is  not  satisfied  unless  impressions  of 
divine  exertion  can  be  submitted  to  a  proper  and  adequate  test. 
Science  is  the  vestibule  to  spiritual  faith.^^^ 

Nevertheless,  science  is  not  religion  and  must  not  be  substi- 
tuted for  it.  By  virtue  of  its  place  in  the  organization  of  the 
self  the  religious  impulse  demands  a  mode  of  functioning  dif- 
ferent from  the  earlier  phases  of  reflection.^^^  Religion  is  dis- 
tinctly an  immediate  experience.  It  excludes  the  scientific 
formulas  that  embrace  all  things  under  general  principles.  It 
isolates  a  particular  object  and  considers  it  as  free,  that  is,  as 
existing  by  the  necessity  of  its  own  nature  and  as  determining 
its  own  action.^2^  ^^^  jg  5^^,}^  ^j^  attitude  without  good  support. 
For  reality  is  embodied  in  every  reaction,  and  reaHty  is  but  an- 
other name  for  God.  Hence  religion  does  not  ask,  as  science 
does,  for  an  elaborate  array  of  empirical  data  upon  the  basis  of 
which  an  adequate  conclusion  can  be  made.  Religion  takes  an 
individual  fact,  and  by  understanding  it  understands  universal 
Nature. ^^2  Let  us  study  the  meaning  of  a  familiar  instinct,  e.g., 
the  sex  impulse.  Viewed  simply  as  a  function  of  body  it  re- 
sponds to  its  proper  stimulus  in  the  same  fashion  as  any  other 


MS 


II,  Sch.  i;  47,  Sell.         "'V,  28.  '^V,  5;  T,  Def.  vli. 

II,  42,  Cor.  ii.  ^^V,  z6,  Sch.  ^V,  24. 


ii6  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

typical  impulse.^-^  When  it  becomes  the  subject  of  rational 
discipline  the  end-in-view  is  proportionately  broadened.  The 
interests  of  society  at  large  are  now  consulted.  Instead  of  being 
an  instrument  for  personal  gratification  the  sex  impulse  turns 
its  attention  to  the  generation  of  healthy  offspring,  and  the  train- 
ing of  childhood  in  the  art  of  living. ^-^  The  good  which  a  man 
covets  for  himself,  vi:^.,  Life,  he  also  covets  for  others,  and  he 
will  endeavor  not  only  to  discharge  his  own  duty  in  an  honorable 
way  but  also  to  influence  other  men  to  the  same  sort  of  action. ^^^ 

Furthermore,  the  implications  of  sex  are  not  exhausted  when 
we  have  fulfilled  its  natural  ofiices.  They  are  wider  in  scope; 
they  possess  profoundly  spiritual  values.  The  fact  is  unequivo- 
cally afBrmed  that  every  reaction,  no  matter  how  obscure,  carries 
with  it  a  complete  WeltanscMuimg.  It  requires  only  the  due 
exercise  of  reflective  thought  in  order  to  disclose  the  cosmic 
elements  in  the  simplest  facts  of  experience. ^^^  Thus,  in  the 
appetite  under  consideration  the  specific  organs  involved  become 
the  symbols  of  universal  fertility.  Ethnic  religions  have  seized 
upon  their  functions  as  evidence  of  the  presence  of  superhuman 
power  in  the  world.  Hence,  mythologic  allegories  like  that  of 
Leda  and  the  swan,  phallic  rites,  official  prostitution  attest  the 
crude  but  natural  quest  for  life.  In  the  higher  faiths  the  same 
symbols  are  employed,  divested  of  course  of  their  physical  ap- 
purtenances and  guaranteeing  to  their  votaries  unqualified  "free- 
dom of  soul."^^^  By  a  process  of  metaphoric  change  generation 
is  superseded  by  re-generation,  the  female  principle  becomes  the 
medium  for  the  introduction  of  mystic  vitality,  while  the  parental 
instinct  is  lost  in  the  gracious  splendor  of  a  divine  Fatherhood. 

The  principle  of  organicity  which  we  have  just  illustrated 
first  comes  to  view  in  the  action  of  a  living  body.  There  we  are 
not  at  liberty  to  assume  a  local  function  of  worth  to  itself  alone. 
The  organism  is  thoroughly  articulated.  Its  appetites  conform 
to  the  good  of  the  whole  and  can  be  understood  solely  through 
its  terms. ^^^    Every  organ  may  be  appraised  as  the  body  in  parvo. 

'=^111,  57,  Sch.  "*V,  14;  cf.  Intel.  Emend,  pg.  6. 

"*  IV,  App.  20.  ^  Cf.  IV,  App.  20. 

"'Ill,  6;  IV,  35,  Cor.  i;  37-  "'IV,  60. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  117 

That  is  to  say,  the  body's  general  purpose  is  crystallized  in  the 
duty  of  a  particular  impulse,— a  Konsentrirung,  as  Fichte  would 
say.^-^  More  impressive  still  is  the  organical  character  of  the 
self.  It  is  an  axiom  of  life  that  no  man  can  preserve  his  cor- 
porate integrity  for  the  sake  of  another  object.^^^  In  the  re- 
flective valuation  of  experience  no  higher  action  can  claim  ac- 
ceptance, for  the  reason  that  if  another  purpose  alien  to  the  sub- 
ject's welfare  should  be  introduced  it  would  disturb  the  course 
of  his  development,  and  we  should  be  unable  to  interpret  the 
act  by  the  conscious  purpose  of  the  whole.  Whatever  events  in 
any  life  appear  to  be  contrary  to  the  general  trend  assume  that 
aspect,  in  all  probability,  because  we  are  not  in  position  to  de- 
tect or  properly  assess  the  value  of  every  element  entering  into 
the  system  of  the  particular  Self.  Analyzed  to  its  core,  the 
most  insignificant  gesture  of  body  will  eventually  reveal  the 
stamp  of  personal  character,  the  degree  of  self-unfolding,  which 
the  agent  has  attained.  The  mind  is  the  formal  cause  of  all 
reactions,  and  hence  mirrors  itself  in  the  common  facts  of  life.^^^ 
Still  a  third  phase  of  teleological  concentration  on  a  broader 
plane  is  the  constitution  of  human  society.  Here  the  particular 
self  is  reflected  in  the  collective  movements  of  mankind.  Here 
a  man  may  project  himself  fully  upon  the  minds  of  his  fellows 
without  fearing  to  encounter  a  single  trait  of  character  that  he 
himself  cannot  in  some  measure  duplicate.  If  the  structure  of 
social  life  were  not  organic  the  principles  of  jurisprudence  would 
be  entirely  without  effect;  for  example,  the  punishment  of  an 
offender  derives  its  force  from  the  fact  that  the  united  will  of 
society  expresses  itself  concretely  against  any  infraction  of  its 
rules.  By  reason  of  this  give-and-take  relation, — the  individual 
to  the  State  and  the  State  to  its  obscurest  citizen, — it  is  possible 
to  make  an  example  of  some  notorious  misdemeanant,  the 
majesty  of  common  law  finding  its  vindication  in  his  person.^^^ 
It  is  competent,  therefore,  without  weaving  the  web  of  legal 
analytics,  to  advance  at  a  leap  from  the  validity  of  retributive 
justice  in  one  instance  to  its  validity  in  the  whole  scheme  of 

"^  Cf.  Wissensschaftslehre,  1801,  Sec.  ^7- 

^IV,  25.  ""V,  31.  ^"  IV,  37,  Sch.  ii. 


ii8  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

juridical  administration.     The  principle  of  organicity  is  abun- 
dantly verified  in  the  transactions  of  social  life. 

But  when  we  reach  the  supreme  level  of  human  intelligence, 
where  the  religious  impulse  makes  itself  felt,  does  the  same 
principle  hold  good?  Does  the  illustration  already  adduced  rest 
upon  a  secure  foundation?  Is  it  a  fact  that  by  a  process  called 
Intuition  the  mind  can  pass  auf  ainem  Blicke  from  the  recogni- 
tion of  reality  in  a  given  object  to  the  complete  understanding  of 
what  it  means  to  the  whole  world  of  reality  ?^^^  The  thing  we 
are  most  deeply  interested  in  is  the  Self,  whose  career  we  are 
building.  The  self  as  body  is  embedded  in  the  order  of  Nature 
and  of  necessity  obeys  her  will  implicitly.  The  Self  as  conscious 
mind  is  not  dependent  on  place  or  time.  Hence,  scientific  in- 
quiry has  not  been  forced  to  wait  for  an  empirical  touch  with  all 
the  myriad  courses  of  the  stellar  world,  ere  its  eternal  secrets 
were  divulged;  such  a  monumental  deduction  as  the  principle 
of  gravitation  sprang  from  the  study  of  inconsiderable  data. 
Still,  even  here  certain  categories  of  logic,  such  as  uniformity,, 
were  applied,  in  order  to  reach  the  end.  In  intuitive  knowledge, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  self  goes  directly  beyond  experience,  and 
opens  converse,  so  to  say,  with  the  universe  as  a  whole.  It  be- 
gins to  see  that  its  mode  of  action  is  emblematic  of  the  move- 
ments of  nature.  For  as  selfhood  in  man  is  the  teleological 
equivalent  of  the  marvellously  varied  and  intricate  reactions  of 
body,  so  the  divine  Self — ''God's  power  of  thinking" — proves  to 
be  the  teleological  aspect  of  ''his  realized  power  of  acting."^^'* 
And  as  man's  body  follows  inevitably  the  path  prescribed  by 
natural  law,  so  man's  mind,  his  personal  Self,  being  organically 
associated  with  the  world  of  consciousness, ^^^  must  register  the 
universal  meaning  of  the  mechanical  order.  ^•^'^ 

How  far  religious  insight  carries  the  mind  beyond  the  pale  of 
conceptual  thinking  may  be  judged  by  its  attitude  towards  the 
idea  of  death.     What  is  death?     Death,  says  reflection,  is  the 

""V,  25.  ^'-II,  7,  Cor. 

^11,  13, 'Sch.;  V,  30,  36. 

^^Cf.  Joachim's  view  of  teleology  in  Spinoza's  philosophy,  "A  Study  of 
Spinoza's  Ethics,"  p.  232. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  119 

result  of  the  joint  action  of  certain  chemico-physical  forces,  con- 
spiring within  the  confines  of  a  given  organism.  Death  comes 
to  all — none  may  escape.  It  is  a  standing  proof  of  the  inexor- 
able execution  of  the  canon  of  causality.  The  duty  of  the  re- 
flective observer  is  to  absorb  whatever  pain  emerges, — sorrow, 
fear,  decline  of  personal  initiative, — in  a  serene  contemplation 
of  the  infallibility  of  natural  law.  But  the  "hurt  of  death"  is 
not  abolished  by  a  skilful  use  of  logic.  It  is  deeper  than  argu- 
ment; it  is  seated  in  the  heart  of  human  hope.  We  may  miti- 
gate its  terrors  by  tracing  its  causes,  but  we  cannot  remove  its 
sting.  A  higher  office  than  rational  persuasion  is  needed  here. 
Spinoza  finds  its  terms  in  the  intuitions  of  religion.  Death  is 
not  death,  as  we  commonly  esteem  it.  Death  is  the  gateway  to 
life.  The  plant  droops,  dies,  and  is  disorganized;  but  its  parts, 
scattered  to  the  winds,  become  the  fructifying  forces  in  higher 
grades  of  life.  The  animal  perishes  at  the  stroke  of  man's  blade ; 
but  its  flesh  once  digested  furnishes  bone  and  sinew,  strength 
of  arm  and  vigor  of  brain.  The  man  dies,  his  body  separates 
into  its  elemental  units;  his  mind  redolent  of  piquant  thoughts 
is  silent,  unheard.  Is  that  all?  Have  his  mighty  loves,  his 
superb  ideals,  his  compelling  purposes  vanished  ?  For  this  world, 
as  an  entity  he  is  dead,  but  as  a  spiritual  power  in  contemporary 
affairs  or  among  generations  unborn  no  death  of  body  can  abro- 
gate his  right  to  live.  Death  viewed  from  its  teleological  im- 
plications is  not  itself  an  end,  it  is  the  means  for  attaining  the 
ultimate  end  of  all  things,  that  is,  Life.^^'^ 

The  precepts  of  religion  so  cogent  in  this  familiar  connection 
may  be  worked  out  in  respect  to  every  reaction  which  leaves 
upon  us  the  impression  of  pain.^^^  They  prove  themselves  to 
be  more  powerful  than  the  abstract  terms  of  reason,  because 
we  are  conscious,  as  already  pointed  out,  of  a  perfect  corre- 
spondence between  our  possible  selves  and  the  universal  self.^^^ 
They  prepare  us,  as  logical  categories  cannot,  for  an  approxima- 
tion to  the  personal  freedom,  where  sense  and  the  recollection 
of  sensory  images  shall  count  as  little  as  possible  in  the  forming 

'""Cf.  V,  31,  Sch,  42,  Sch.  '^V,  2>^,  Sch. 

^V,  38. 


I20  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

of  judgment.  Hence,  every  time  we  have  accepted  one  of  re- 
ligion's counsels  we  have  come  that  much  nearer  to  the  true 
self  which  we  are  striving  to  evolve, — "the  chief  part  of  the 
mind,  which  is  eternal."^'*^  If  man  could  reach  the  terminus  of 
the  infinitely  repeated  dialectic,  he  would  cease  to  be  man,  he 
would  become  God.^*^  But  since  that  is  only  an  intellectual 
concept,  his  business  plainly  is  to  fit  every  private  reaction  into 
the  organic  scheme  of  the  world,  learning  especially  that  events 
fraught,  in  his  view,  with  evil  consequences,  are  at  root  sym- 
bolic of  some  universal  principle,  the  understanding  of  which 
will  perceptibly  lighten  his  way. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  in  discussing  the  religious  impulse  we 
have  been  able  to  distinguish  the  very  elements  which  are  integral 
to  the  meaning  of  a  common  reaction.  Thus,  we  have  first 
sought  the  end  or  purpose  of  the  instinct,  next  the  means  of 
stimulating  causes  by  which  it  functions,  and  finally  the  certain 
satisfactions  issuing  from  every  discharge  of  natural  power. 
The  parallel  is  not  accidental;  it  is  involved  in  the  structure  of 
the  mind.  That  a  feeling  of  pleasure  sweeps  over  the  body 
when  hunger  is  appeased,  or  a  beautiful  object  greets  the  eye, 
or  very  emphatically  when  a  long-coveted  treasure  is  secured, 
the  most  rudimentary  experience  can  testify.  Pleasure  is  a 
moment  in  psychic  action,  quite  different  from  the  original 
impulse  or  the  physiological  changes  due  to  contact  with  en- 
vironment. It  calculates  the  successive  values  of  consciousness, 
how  we  felt  before  and  after  the  reaction  took  place.  It  cannot 
therefore  be  an  enduring  fact  in  the  emotional  life,  except  insofar 
as  we  may  desire  to  keep  a  strict  account  of  functional  dis- 
charges for  purposes  of  critical  study.  For  directly  it  has  af- 
firmed' the  operation  of  one  impulse,  another  begins  to  function, 
and  its  corresponding  gratifications  demand  the  same  attention 
from  the  mind.^*^  The  evanescent  character  of  physical  pleasure 
will  appear  if  we  compare  the  first  glow  of  appreciation  conse- 
quent upon — let  us  say — the  astronomer's  discovery  of  a  new 
planiet,  with  the  gradually  receding  warmth  in  each  recollection 

^^'V,  39.  '^'III,  Def.  ,Emot.  iii,  Explic. 

"^V,  40,  Sch. 


p 

B    the 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  121 


thereof.  Organic  chemistry  has  no  instruments  for  measuring 
the  change  in  cellular  tissue  or  the  rapid  acceleration  in  the  blood 
circulation  under  the  primary  strain.  It  will  be  still  more  help- 
less when  the  steady  abatement  of  feeling  is  contrasted  with 
the  satisfactions  of  mind,  which  grow  stronger  with  every  con- 
templation of  the  facts. 

There  will  thus  be  foreshadowed  a  state  of  mind  where  bodily 
behavior  is  reduced  to  its  minimum  values,  a  state  manifestly 
approached  when  the  mind  reacts  not  to  particular  objects,  but 
to  the  totality  of  possible  objects  conceived  as  simultaneous 
stimuli,  that  is,  to  the  idea  of  the  world  itself. ^*^  Here  the 
pleasure-giving  response  attends  the  comprehension  of  a  prin- 
ciple starting  with  a  single  event  in  the  career,  but  leading  out 
thence  into  the  meaning  of  universal  existence.  The  act  is  an 
act  of  reflection,  and  its  effect  upon  the  agent  must  be  distinctly 
in  the  sphere  of  intellect,  not  of  sense.^**  If  now  we  steadily 
reduce  the  play  of  emotion,  we  shall  at  length  reach,  in  concept 
if  not  in  reality,  the  form  of  a  Being  stripped  of  passion,  with- 
out pleasure,  without  pain,  unable  to  pass  from  one  perfection  to 
another,  knowing  neither  love  nor  hate  as  we  know  them,  the 
apotheosis  of  reflection,  pure  intellect. ^^^  But  in  the  mean  time, 
— and  this  is  the  serious  matter  for  us  humans, — we  may  de- 
termine to  a  nicety  how  far  we  have  advanced  in  the  development 
of  selfhood  by  the  amount  of  satisfaction  derived  from  religious 
thought,  as  compared  with  our  interest  in  purely  sensory  ex- 
perience. ^^^  We  shall  determine,  too,  what  types  of  religious 
practice  yield  the  most  gratifying  returns,  whether  those  which 
appeal  to  the  aesthetic  taste,  or  those  which  go  down  into  the 
philosophy  of  the  world-scheme.  The  latter  cannot  fail  to  im- 
press the  mind  as  the  superlative  tests  of  religion.  Be  their 
appreciation  by  us  great  or  small,  the  fact  that  we  have  actually 
employed  their  terms  proves  that  we  have  attained  a  degree  of 
freedom  inestimably  beyond  the  highest  responsibilities  of  ethi- 
cal intercourse,  as  the  divine  is  beyond  the  human.^^"^ 

But  religion   does  more  than   refine  emotional   interests  by 

^*»V,  14.  '**¥,  17.  ""Cf.  V,  36,  Sch. 

^**V,  32,  Cor.  ^**V,  40,  Cor. 


122  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

withdrawing  them  from  sensuous  contact;  it  brings  out  more 
clearly  the  intimate  qualities  of  each.  Love  cannot  be  restricted 
to  the  mind's  reaction  upon  objects  of  sense.  When  so  under- 
stood, love  is  an  involuntary  motion  of  body,  interpreted  by 
the  mind  as  pleasure  accompanied  by  the  image  of  an  external 
cause.^^^  As  an  ethical  emotion  love  obeys  a  similar  law,  though 
now  the  reason  why  we  should  join  in  an  harmonious  inter- 
change of  thought  becomes  evident.  Men  have  the  same  nature 
and  the  same  goal.  Yet  love  to  one's  fellowman  is  rarely  if 
ever  efficacious,  except  it  be  visited  upon  a  known  individual. 
Society  as  such,  the  social  consciousness  in  its  uncounted  units, 
is  not  the  fit  object  of  a  man's  affection.  Moral  duty  is  direct, 
not  pervasive.  The  religious  impulse,  however,  gives  rise  to  a 
new  type  of  love.  It  cannot  be  limited  to  a  single  experience, 
for  as  soon  as  the  mind  responds  thereto,  instantly  a  whole 
vista  of  universal  implications  is  opened  up.  Love  that  began 
in  common  fashion  is  suddenly  transformed  into  a  ramifying 
intellectual  power. ^^^  The  warmth  of  this  power  ofttimes  over- 
flows into  the  channels  of  sensibility,  as  e.g.,  when  the  face  of 
the  mystic  takes  on  a  rapt  expression  the  moment  his  soul  has 
caught  sight  of  supernal  glory.  But  obviously  the  momentary 
elation  is  something  more  than  the  coalescence  of  certain  con- 
current feelings.  For  while  we  might  make  a  sum  of  all  possi- 
ble gratifications  attending  the  discharge  of  normal  impulses,  we 
should  yet  need  to  take  into  account  the  correlating  activity  of 
mind,  which  has  united  one  and  all  under  the  rubric  of  a  self.^^^ 
It  is  apparent,  then,  that  religion  is  not  a  meaningful  concep- 
tion, save  as  we  see  in  man  the  concrete  personality,  the  free  and 
energetic  agent,  not  interested  primarily  in  reactions  as  physical 
facts,  but  bent  on  embedding  them  in  the  structure  of  his  un- 
folding personal  life.^^^  Man  therefore  identifies  himself  with 
the  natural  order  of  the  world.  He  lives  no  longer  in  unreasoned 
contact  with  his  environment;  he  can  no  longer  be  content  with 
its  cursory  pleasures.  His  loves  once  resting  on  specific  forms 
now  by  reflective  thought  embrace  the  essence  of  the  whole. ^^^^ 

^"III,  Def.  Emots.  vi.  ""V,  i6. 

"»V,  15.  "'V,  27.  '"V,  32  and  Cor. 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  123 

If  the  self  with  its  loves  could  be  infinitely  magnified,  so  that 
the  images  of  particular  objects  were  entirely  excluded,  we 
should  reach  the  idea  of  absolute  Being,  whose  emotion — using 
still  the  familiar  term — would  be  of  the  intellect  alone.  It  fol- 
lows from  this  that  the  richer  the  content  of  religious  feeling, 
and  the  more  varied  the  interests  of  private  and  public  life  af- 
fected, the  more  will  the  divine  elements  of  selfhood  be  brought 
into  play.  Perfect  love,  complete  acquiescence  of  spirit,  remains 
an  ideal  never  to  be  actualized,  a  concept  which  we  identify  with 
the  divine  consciousness.^^^ 

Two  practical  assurances  hinge  upon  the  idea  of  love  instilled 
by  religion.  In  the  first  place,  our  theory  of  divine  providence 
will  be  profoundly  changed.  Just  as  long  as  we  continue  to 
ascribe  conflicting  emotions  or  varying  moods  to  the  heart  of 
Nature  we  shall  find  our  religious  attitude  full  of  grave  diffi- 
culties. How  can  God,  whose  breath  is  in  the  nostrils  of  all 
flesh,  be  forced  to  shower  his  benefactions  on  one  man  to  the 
exclusion  of  others?  Or  what  bribes  shall  a  devotee  offer  suffi- 
cient in  worth  to  affect  the  serenity  of  sovereign  judgment? 
Again,  what  manner  of  distribution  of  natural  forces  shall  a 
man  conceive  to  be  so  inimical  to  his  private  interests  as  to 
persuade  him  that  Deity  has  pursued  a  policy  of  resentment 
against  him  personally?  The  principle  of  reflective  love  proves 
his  strictures  to  be  without  foundation.  For  none  of  them, 
when  properly  assessed,  can  satisfy  either  the  logic  or  aspiration 
of  his  mind.  Man  craves  for  equanimity ;  he  seeks  for  the  elimi- 
nation of  mental  distress.  Pessimism,  whose  taint  is  in  the 
foregoing  queries,  has  always  issued  in  counsels  of  despair, 
suicide  crowning  the  soul's  defeat. ^^*  On  the  other  hand,  the 
mind  in  its  saner  moods  has  sought  for  concepts  which  invest  it 
with  the  atmosphere  of  certitude.  Now  since  the  highest  con- 
cept the  mind  can  entertain  is  the  perfection  of  God,^^^  it  be- 
hooves us  to  reorganize  our  religious  dogmatics  by  the  excision 
of  all  childish  and  mercenary  notions,  substituting  for  them  the 
principle  of  judgment  which  the  religious  impulse  has  taught  us 

"'V,  35,  36  and  Sch.        ^^  IV,  18.  ^'^  II,  46,  47- 


124  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

in  common  experience. ^^^  For  if  we  permit  any  fancy  no  mat- 
ter how  ingenious  to  divert  the  current  of  rehgious  feeling, 
falsehood  of  a  most  serious  kind  will  follow  in  its  train,  error 
big  enough  to  arrest  the  growth  of  character  and  pauperize  the 
moral  sense.^^"^ 

The  second  maxim  of  religion  comes  in  sight  at  this  point. 
Fervor  of  mind  generated  by  contact  with  the  world  conscious- 
ness refuses  to  be  defaced  by  the  faults  of  social  intercourse. 
One  of  man's  besetting  sins  is  jealousy,  a  strange  mingling  of 
love  and  hate, — first,  consuming  devotion  to  a  beloved  object 
and  aversion  toward  our  rival,  then  the  displacement  of  love  and 
the  rise  of  scorn  and  condemnation.  This  is  the  bent  of  nature, 
and  its  inexorable  reward  is  pain.^^^  Can  ethics  by  its  brawniest 
effort  crush  the  insidious  destroyer?  It  has  argued  that  retalia- 
tion is  suicidal.  Are  not  the  interests  of  each  so  closely  inter- 
twined with  the  interests  of  all  that  if  one  be  hurt  the  body 
politic,  and  not  least  he  who  gave  the  affront,  suffers  accord- 
ingly? If  for  no  other  reason  than  for  self-preservation,  the 
dictates  of  morality  should  be  observed.  But  obviously  in  the 
ifinal  account  the  compulsion  of  the  social  ideal  is  extremely 
weak.  Highly  organized  civilizations,  faced  by  extraordinary 
situations,  have  torn  up  their  sensitized  moral  code  and  cast  its 
fragments  to  the  winds.  Logic  has  wrought  many  wonders  in 
public  life,  but  it  has  never  yet  polarized  human  impulses  about 
the  idea  of  what  the  good  of  the  world  demands.  Spinoza,  liv- 
ing amid  the  political  embroilments  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
knew  how  desperately  faint  the  call  of  justice  was.  Not  theory 
alone  but  the  issue  of  events  turned  him  to  a  higher  principle. 
Religion,  the  "knowledge  of  God,"  is  the  one  safe  anchor  for 
the  struggling  fleet  of  human  desires.  The  degree  of  a  man's 
love  for  his  neighbor  will  be  determined,  and  determined  solely, 
by  the  ripeness  of  his  religious  experience.^^^  To  statesmen, 
who  build  civic  prestige  upon  military  establishments  and  hold 
that  religion  should  be  officially  appointed  because  liberty  of 
thought  engenders  fantastic  ideas,  tending  to  weaken  the  spirit 

^"•V,  i8,  19.  "*ni,  35,  Sch. 

*'V,  Z7,  Dem.  ^"^^  IV,  Z7. 


r 


FREEDOM  AND  PURPOSE  125 


of  loyalty,  such  a  consideration  is  unthinkable.  Jealousies  can 
be  kept  in  leash  by  a  single  force,  viz.,  preparedness  for  striking 
back.  Vagaries  of  each  and  every  sort  yield  to  one  remedial 
charm,  physical  might.  But  the  shallow  pessimism  of  the  super- 
man argument  has  been  exposed  a  hundred  times.  There  is  a 
religious  instinct  within  the  breast,  and  it  links  itself  involun- 
tarily with  the  noblest  ideals  of  the  race.  Those  ideals  cover  a 
type  of  character  which  all  may  share.  The  fact  that  it  is  open 
to  all  eliminates  the  element  of  competition.  No  man  can  take 
away  his  neighbor's  birthright,  no  matter  how  hard  he  try. 
Such  properties  are  unique  to  the  Self.  Then,  if  there  be  no 
contest,  there  can  arise  no  misconceptions  nor  any  heartburns. 
The  jealousies  which  sensuous  rewards  always  excite,  because 
just  one  and  no  more  can  possess  the  good,  are  entirely  absent. 
Instead  of  bitter  contention  a  benevolent  rivalry  for  the  expan- 
sion of  virtue  is  engaged  in,  while  the  delight  in  our  personal 
achievements  is  perceptibly  heightened  by  the  conquests  of  a 
multitude  in  the  same  field.  The  superiority  of  the  religious 
good  over  those  of  sense  is  forever  established. ^^^ 

Let  us  not  suppose,  however,  that  either  of  these  maxims  of 
religion  can  be  immediately  and  fully  verified  to  us.  The  road 
to  this  summit  is  hard  and  will  be  discovered  only  with  the 
greatest  labor.  It  must  be  hard,  for  its  frequenters  are  ex- 
tremely few.  It  belongs  to  the  reflective  impulse  to  seek  out 
and  tread  the  path,  be  it  never  so  persistently  abandoned  after 
each  new  success. ^^^  It  belongs  too  to  the  same  impulse  to 
award  to  us  convincing  evidence  of  its  satisfactory  pursuit. 
What  the  form  of  that  evidence  is  we  have  already  described. 
It  is  manifest  that  even  on  this  most  exalted  level  of  human 
experience  the  principle  of  compensation  is  not  forgotten.  If 
organic  appetites  yield  definite  pleasure,  which  in  turn  drives 
us  by  the  appeal  of  the  imagination  to  their  repeated  discharge, 
so  religion  instills  within  us  a  feeling  of  satisfaction, — joy  that 
we  have  entered  into  the  secrets  of  nature,  the  glow  of  surprise 
that  we  are  really  bone  of  her  bone  and  flesh  of  her  flesh.  The 
difference  between  sensuous  pleasure  and  religious  joy  lies  in 

"^  V,  20.  '"'  V,  42. 


126  JAMES  H.  DUNHAM 

their  duration.  The  one  is  ephemeral;  it  may  be  repeated  in- 
definitely, but  at  length  its  edge  will  wear  off  with  the  decay  of 
bodily  powers.  The  joy  of  divine  communion  is  permanent. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  realm  of  sense  that  can  throw  it  into 
collapse.  Organic  instincts  may  lose  their  value  because  the 
organs  compounding  them  are  destroyed.  This  applies  to  every 
material  element  and  is  covered  by  the  law  of  mechanism: 
'There  is  no  individual  thing,  than  which  there  is  not  another 
more  powerful  and  effective."^^^  But  the  joy  of  the  spirit  is 
not  defined  by  the  coordinates  of  time  and  place.  It  inhabits 
the  home  of  the  Self,  and  the  conjunction  of  physical  events 
cannot  disturb  its  freedom. ^^^  If  it  depended  for  its  vigor  on 
an  immediate  reaction  to  environment,  it  could  not  survive  the 
first  passing  flush.  Its  virtue  is  not  empirical.  Rather  it  is 
the  fruit  of  a  different  type  of  mental  action,  that  which  deals 
with  universal  and  eternal  principles.  The  feeling  attending 
such  thought  cannot  be  evanescent;  it  must  be  perpetual. ^^* 

If,  then,  a  man  has  won  the  first  elementary  article  of  religious 
faith,  he  should  hold  to  it  as  a  priceless  treasure;  it  will  never 
deteriorate  in  value  nor  alter  in  form.  "Love  towards  God  can- 
not be  turned  into  hate."^^^  This  is  his  sure  return  for  giving 
the  religious  impulse  room  to  function,. — a  beatitude  of  mind,  a 
serenity  of  soul, — not  the  captious  reward  for  triumph  over 
sense,  but  the  conscious  condition  of  his  triumph.  In  short,  re- 
ligion does  not  offer  itself  to  the  race  as  the  end  of  an  ethical 
s'^ruggle;  it  affirms  that  it  alone  is  the  instrument  by  the  use  of 
which  moral  obligations  are  essentially  fulfilled  and  the  terms 
of  selfhood  adequately  met.^^^  Because  it  crystallizes  the  uni- 
versal meaning  of  human  life,  it  assures  to  its  subjects  an  in- 
creasing degree  of  freedom  through  a  wise  and  affectionate 
compliance  with  its  terms.  If  the  religious  attitude  be  seriously 
espoused,  the  last  fetters  of  sense  begin  to  loosen,  the  suffocating 
pangs  of  repression  yield  to  a  larger  hope.  Man  awakes  not  to 
a  dramatic  disenthralment  mediated  by  stranger  hands,  but  to 
the  throb  of  his  sovereign  self -consciousness.  He  bears  the 
future  in  his  own  breast.     His  purpose  has  made  him  free. 

^^  IV,  Axiom.  '"V,  33.  '^'V,  42. 

'"V,  Z7.  '*V,  i8,  €or. 


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